


Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

by JessJesstheBest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Has a Cat, Established Relationship, Excessive amounts of spandex, Fluff, M/M, Spoiler alert: Professional Wrestling is Fake, WWE AU, WWE typical violence, discussion of past injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2018-11-08
Packaged: 2019-08-20 07:19:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16551416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessJesstheBest/pseuds/JessJesstheBest
Summary: “I’m Baby Del Mar and I think y'all are mighty fine.It’s time for ass-whooping. Who’s next in line?”Baby Del Mar is one of the top faces in the WWE universe. But in real life, Dean Winchester is just a guy who wants to keep his personal and professional lives separate.This turns out to be a problem for several reasons.





	Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

Dean was pretty proud of his entrance.

Since he was a kid, he’d thought about what it would be like to be a professional wrestler. Not the wrestling itself – the training, the matches, the moves – but everything that came with it. The costume and drama. The _character_.

He hadn’t always known it was a character. He hadn’t known the wrestlers didn’t always use their real names, that the fights were scripted and the wrestlers went into a match knowing if they were going to win or lose. But that didn’t matter to him. Even if he was wrestling as Dean Winchester, he’d always known he’d come out in a cowboy hat with “The Immigrant Song” playing him out.

Well, he couldn’t use copyrighted music. But he was definitely wearing a cowboy hat over his sandy brown hair as he made his way to the ring.

And he wasn’t wrestling as Dean Winchester either.

The stage was lit up underneath and above Dean, a rush of blue and pink and purple rushing past him before everything went black except for his name in the Winchester guns font on the back screen. It was a little inside joke between him and himself.

**_“Baby! Baby! Baby! Baby!”_ **

Dean grinned and threw a wink at the crowd. They chanted his name louder.

Dean was proud of his entrance. He was proud of his name. He was proud of his image.

He could probably be more proud of his wrestling, but fuck it, he was living the dream.

Dean rolled under the ropes, casual as you please, and hopped to his feet, bouncing a little on his toes before turning and shooting finger guns at the crowd. They screamed.

He grabbed a mic from the ref standing ring-side and brought it up to his face. He pressed his lips to the mesh and hummed the four notes that preceded his theme music.

Sammy said it sounded like that salute thing from _The Hunger Games_ but Sammy was a nerd. None of Dean’s fans thought that. They fucking loved it. Because they knew what came next, and they shouted Dean’s lines along with him.

“I’m Baby Del Mar and I think y’all are mighty fine.” Dean played up his southern accent. It was part of the schtick but it also would have sounded ridiculous saying these lines in anything but a southern accent. “It’s time for ass-whooping. Who’s next in line?”

Everyone screamed. Dean leaned back on his heels, smirking. He was the picture of ease.

He’d absolutely refused to wear fringe when they’d asked him about his costume. He wasn’t Macho Man. He wasn’t Ultimate Warrior. No, his outfit was simple. Classic. He wore jeans and a white t-shirt with his cowboy hat. The t-shirt usually came off, and he threw the hat somewhere into the crowd every match (it was a hard sell when he first started, but he was a big enough face now that the network didn’t mind getting him new ones). But that was Baby Del Mar. He was a classic American cowboy. There to kick your ass.

Dean fucking loved his job.

This wasn’t a televised event. Nothing would go down at this match that would be in any way new or exciting. No belts would change hands, no fresh faces would come up or old faces make surprise re-appearances. No, Dean was just there to wrestle. There to flirt with fans and fight with friends. It was one of the easier things he got to do.

Especially when Cas was in the ring.

Cas stood in the ring in the uppity dress pants and waistcoat the network thought would make their GM look professional. The waistcoat came with pocket watch and pocket watch chain. It was a good look, if Dean was honest, but the professional vibe was utterly ruined by the thick mass of dark hair creating anarchy on top of Cas’s head. It turned the look from ‘hard-working professional’ to ‘freshly fucked librarian.’ Which, needless to say, was a look Dean was firmly in favor of.

He turned to Cas, grinning smugly. Cas’s face was neutral, but Dean definitely caught a flash in his eye.

“If I’d’ve known you’d be here, Castiel, I would’ve worn something nice.”

The put-upon accent sanded the g off of something and rounded the ‘haves’ in ‘I’d’ve’ and ‘would’ve’ into open ‘a’s. I’dda. Woulda. Cas rolled his eyes.

“Baby, you knew I’d be here.” His voice was unnaturally smooth. “You got the schedule same as me.”

Dean winked. “Guess that means I already knew I looked good.”

Groans and jeers from the audience before the familiar chant started up behind him.

**_“Baby’s gonna kiss you. Baby’s gonna kiss you.”_ **

Dean had thought it was hilarious at first. Now he thought it was fucking amazing.

Cas shook his head, theatrically. “You’re kind of interrupting something, Baby.”

“Oh am I?” Dean asked, exposing his teeth but _only_ on the left side. “Something important, I trust? Not just a cash grab at the expense of all of these kind people who came out to see us tonight?”

It was a cheap pop. A way for the audience to feel like Dean was on their side, even though they knew he was fully a part of this system that demanded their money. Wanted them to pay for their network, wanted them to buy merch in the lobby. It was pretty standard for the general manager to come out and promo the network – let the audience know about upcoming pay-per-views and where to go online to buy commemorative t-shirts. It wasn’t really fair for Dean to call Cas out like this, but Dean was glad to have this excuse to banter with Cas in the ring, even if he wasn’t wrestling anymore.

Cas rolled his eyes. “Right, Baby, like you don’t like money.”

Dean struck a pose. It didn’t look like striking a pose, which is how he knew he was good at it. “I just like wrestling. That’s why I’m here.”

The crowd screamed.

Cas shook his head again. “Why don’t we just get on with the match. Can we do that?”

Dean shrugged, moving his shoulders more than he would if he weren’t in front of hundreds of people. He made sure to lift them high enough to expose that sliver of skin above his waistband. “That depends.”

Cas knew his line. “On what?”

Dean waited, letting the audience build a little before he said, “On who’s next in line for an ass-whooping.”

The crowd went nuts, soon doubling its volume when a seagull call sounded through the arena. The crash of waves followed and the entrance stage lit up blue white and green, violins and whistling playing in another wrestler. “The Captain” shone brightly in white on the overhead as he strolled out in a long coat, a captain’s hat, and the title belt.

Anyone who knew anything about wrestling would know as soon as Benny ‘The Captain’ Lafitte walked out into the arena that Dean was about to lose this match. Change titles at a live event? The fan network would riot.

So Dean was about to lose. He knew it. The crowd knew it. But he had a part to play.

Dean waited until Benny ducked into the ring – no rolls, no swagger, full dignity – before he said his line. He stuck his left thumb through a belt loop of his jeans and leaned back on his heels. He still wished he could wear cowboy boots. “Captain! To what do I owe the pleasure.”

Benny just smirked. He brought the microphone up to his face almost lazily, being sure not to let the bristles of his beard interfere. “Oh, Baby, you know what you did.”

Dean bit back a grimace. Being the cowboy was his bit, yes, but there was no faking Benny’s authentic Louisiana drawl.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

The fans all started yelling at once. Dean caught snatches of _‘You said he got lucky!’_ and _‘You said you could take the belt easy!_ ’

To be fair: Dean _had_ said those things. Or at least Baby had, in one of the backstage interviews with Renee Young.

Listen, if he and Benny were both Faces, they needed to make conflict _somehow_.

Benny laughed, a low chuckle directly into the microphone. Dean repressed a shiver. That would never not be hot.

“Brother… I know you’re not lying to me.”

A cluster of fans toward the back start singing the _Pirates of the Caribbean_ theme. This kind of thing happened now and then, what with Benny being called “The Captain.” It got them in trouble sometimes when you could hear it on tv. But tonight’s match wasn’t being broadcast so...

He shrugged. “A dishonest man you can always trust to be dishonest.” Shouts went up in the crowd from people who recognized the quote. “Honestly. It's the honest ones you want to watch out for.”

Dean watched as Benny bit back a grin and saw Cas do a full facepalm behind him. Dean was always getting in trouble for changing lines but he was a performer! He saw his chance and he took it.

They got the gist of what his line was supposed to be anyway. Probably. He’d see what Benny said.

“I won this belt honest.” Benny gestured at it, billowing his coat out so you could see the belt over his otherwise bare torso. “And you don’t think I did. Luck? Nah, brother. Honest work. I’m an honest man.” He paused, letting the cheers ramp up before bringing the microphone right to his lips. “And you should watch out for me.”

Damn. But Benny was _good_. Adding Dean’s quote into his own line? Masterful. And Benny would probably get him back for this. Make Dean work just as hard next match. Double damn.

Dean leaned his head forward, unhooking his thumb from his jeans so he could slowly take off his hat. The screams from the first dozen rows amped up immediately, knowing one of them was about to get Dean’s hat.

Dean only said, “Let’s go then.” before tossing it, no look, to a young-ish kid a couple rows off center. She was holding a sign that said, ‘Hit him, Baby, one more time.’ Dean was only human.

He circled around Benny, casually handing Cas his mic as he did. Benny had also subtly relieved himself of his mic and circled Dean back, sliding the coat from his shoulders.

Dean wasn’t saying it was watching professional wrestling that made him gay. But looking at Benny, in his tight pants, no shirt, muscly and oiled to the gods, Dean couldn’t say it _wasn’t_ watching that made him gay.

The bell rang to mark the start of the match and Dean barrelled in, no holds barred. This was a cocky move, and not totally uncharacteristic for Baby, but it earned him a swift kick in the face and he landed on his back with a hard _whap!_

Yeah, Dean was losing this match. But he was going to make everyone in that stadium love watching him lose.

He let loose a wail of pain, curling in on himself in an expression of pure agony. Benny took no time in dropping down on Dean in a body slam.

The groaned “Oh!” from the audience was hugely satisfying.

Dean didn’t go down easily, determined to put on a good show. He did a few of his favorite moves – taking Benny down by putting a shoulder right in his solar plexus in a spear, putting him in his signature armbar, “The Deal-Breaker” – and Benny put on a good show of being worn down.

But everyone knew they were just one Cajun Cage-In away from a Captain victory.

Dean hated losing by submission. He wanted to be pinned, dammit! He wanted to show that he’d given everything he could to the match – for the audience to see he was sweating and exhausted and had given his all to this performance. To this fight.

Tapping out was giving up. Dean was raised to never give up.

But there he was, in the middle of the ring, splayed like a figurehead on the prow of a ship – back arched with Benny’s weight pushing his hips down, his arms locked in front of Dean’s face, pulling his head back. It hurt, for sure. He was suspended: his chest hanging from where Benny had him gripped and his face to the lights, blinding him. Dean could feel his pelvis pressing into the stage, his shoulders straining where they were locked in flight behind Benny’s bent knees. His jaw cracked from the tight grip of Benny’s forearms. This was a finisher. Dean had nowhere to go.

He did not want to tap out.

But he was here to lose. So he’d lose.

He tapped at Benny’s calf – the closest solid surface he could reach with his arms suspended as they were – and the bell rang again to signify the end of the match.

The crowd went nuts. Benny released him and he slumped to the floor, defeated. He rolled and sat up to pout, as was tradition. He was Baby – he had to act like a baby when he lost.

Plus he was cute when he pouted.

Cas ducked back into the ring and clapped Benny on the shoulder. “Your winner and remaining your Smackdown champion: The Captain!”

Benny lifted the belt and the crowd went nuts.

Dean crossed his legs pretzel style and rested his elbows on his knees, sinking his pouting face into his right hand. He watched Benny smirk and Castiel roll his eyes again.

 

 

 

 

Dean and Benny were the main event, which meant as soon as Dean got backstage, he wanted to whip his jeans off and throw on some sweatpants.

Dean didn’t like to complain about his costume because, compared to the singlets and spandex trunks most of the other guys wore, his outfit was at least comfortable. But not as comfortable as sweatpants.

“Charlie!”

The redhead popped up next to him, Dean’s duffle bag slung over her shoulder. “Yo.”

Dean took it from her gratefully, fishing his water bottle out from the bottom. “Give me good news.”

Charlie tapped around on an ipad as he took several hearty gulps. “You’re going to give yourself a stomach ache,” she commented without looking at him.

He belched loudly in agreement. Charlie rolled her eyes, fondly.

“You’ve got a rest day tomorrow but then you’re back to training.” Dean nodded, pulling out his favorite sweatpants and stripping off his jeans in the middle of the hallway. No one even blinked at him. “Another rest day Sunday,” Charlie continued. “You and Benny have to film a promo spot: you’re wrestling at Tuesday night Smackdown week after next.”

Dean pumped his fist, his other hand still yanking his sweatpants up.

Charlie raised a restraining hand. “All right, hot shot, relax. It’s a tag team match – you and Benny against Jesse and Cesar.”

Dean grinned. Jesse and Cesar were a pair of wrestlers that had come to Smackdown from Lucha Libre a couple years ago: Los Cazadores. They were both big and mean – or at least their characters were. They were great.

“That is great news.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “Thank you, Charlie.”

Charlie shrugged his hand off, laughing. “Gross, you’re all sweaty.” She shoved at his chest with her ipad. “Go shower.”

“Can’t. Gotta wait for Cas.”

Charlie snorted. “Gross,” she said again before making her way over to Benny to give him his schedule.

Dean finished his water and threw the now empty bottle back in his bag. He did a quick scan of the backstage area so he could find somewhere to towel off. Charlie hadn’t been wrong: he was gross.

He approached a stack of chairs pushed up against the wall and tossed his bag onto the seat, stripping off his sweaty white t-shirt as he went. He rifled through his bag until he found his Designated Sweat Towel. He dried off his face, first – running the towel over his hair to help it air out. His hair wasn’t long enough that they asked him to slick it back with water before he went out into the ring, but he still sweat enough for it to look damp anyway.

He started drying off his arms and sides but he couldn’t reach between his shoulder blades. He looked around for anyone who might help him. His eyes caught on a blond ponytail.

“Jo! Hey, Jo!”

She stopped, turning fast enough that her ponytail whipped over her shoulder. Dean knew she’d practiced that move. “Yeah?”

Dean held up the towel and gave his most winning grin. “Get my back?”

Her noise crinkled in disgust but she relented, taking the towel and swiping down from his neck to his waist.

“I don’t know why you can’t just use the showers here like everyone else.”

Dean shrugged, flinching when the rough towel tickled over one of his sensitive spots. “I don’t tell you how to live your life, Joanna Beth.”

She snapped the towel at him. “And I’m not asking you to towel off my sweat.”

Dean shrugged. “Fair enough.”

She snapped the towel at him again before draping it over his shoulder. “You’re done.” She smacked him on the ass. “Now put a shirt on.”

Dean turned and blew a kiss at her as she walked away. She flipped him off.

He laughed as he dug in his duffel for the plastic bag he kept in there for the sweat towel. He didn’t want to make his other clothes gross. He found it at the very bottom next to the mostly-wrapped half-eaten burger from his lunch.

“Oh, nice!” He stuck it in his mouth and held it between his teeth while he folded the towel into the plastic bag and dropped it back into the duffel. He took a bite out of the burger and chewed while he dove in again, for his hoodie this time.

Once found, and donned, he was finishing the last bite of his burger when Cas approached him.

Dean grinned at him. “Hey!”

Cas smiled back, softly. “Hi.” He reached up for a kiss.

Dean hummed into it for only a moment before pulling back. “Can we get out of here? I’m starving.”

Cas frowned, reaching back up for another kiss. “Why do you taste like pickles?”

Dean shrugged. “I just ate some leftovers from lunch. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still _dying._ ”

Cas rolled his eyes, squeezing Dean’s waist. “You’re not dying so much we can’t wait to see what Bobby has to say.”

“Fuck, Bobby,” Dean whined, burying his face in Cas’s neck. “I finished my match. It’s officially my rest day.”

Cas hummed, his fingers running over the still sweat-damp bristles at the back of Dean’s neck. “But I still have to work. Do you want go somewhere and I can meet you?”

“No,” Dean grumbled. “I can wait.”

Cas hummed again, kissing the side of Dean’s head before pushing him away. “Well, you might as well come with me if this is about what I think it’s going to be about.”

Dean sighed, hiking his bag up on his shoulder, and grabbed Cas’s hand. “Isn’t it always?”

 

 

 

The story of how Dean and Cas got together wasn’t particularly thrilling: they met through work.

Dean started in NXT. He was one of those weird cases that walked into an audition and walked out with a contract, never having actually wrestled before – barring fucking around with his brother in their backyard. He had a following and a belt faster than anyone could have guessed. He’d only had the belt for 178 days but he had those fans forever. And that fanbase only grew when, after a year, he’d moved up to Smackdown.

He had the look. He had the charisma. And he had a good brand.

It was a risk, being the roster’s first openly bisexual wrestler. But they had a surprising number of queer wrestling fans. And queer fans were nothing if not loyal consumers.

He debuted during the Monday Night Raw after Wrestlemania (this was before Raw and Smackdown were separate rosters), and Cas was already an established wrestler for the brand. They had instant chemistry in the ring which meant they were scheduled for the same events. Their relationship had developed naturally.

And they had immediately decided to keep it a secret.

Well, not keep it a secret so much as keep it _out_ of the ring. Dean and Cas were a couple. Baby and Castiel were friendly acquaintances.

That didn’t stop the network from trying to change that.

“Boys.”

Dean and Cas sat down across from Bobby. Dean draped his hand over Cas’s knee, just to be a shit.

“Bobby.”

Bobby glanced at Dean’s hand, his mustache twitching. Dean got the impression he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes.

“Castiel, I wanted to talk to you about your contract as general manager and your potential transition back into wrestling. I assume you’ll want to talk to your replacement as general manager and get ahead of your press when you do make the switch.”

Cas nodded. Dean squeezed his knee.

“Now, as we have it currently, you’re set to guest ref at the live show in Tulsa. Now, barring anything with that–”

Bobby went on to detail the next couple of months in their lives. Dean wasn’t really listening. Cas could keep up with all of this.

Dean hadn’t really listened in important meetings before Cas either. He was much more likely to get taken advantage of back then – to not get the matches or money that he was entitled to – simply because his ADHD prevented him from paying close enough attention to the people in charge of him. Then he’d gotten Charlie (his nosy tech who could point out to him when things weren’t right) and now he had Cas. Cas could pay attention better than anyone Dean had ever met and Dean could also trust him to have his best interest in mind. It was the perfect scenario.

“Dean?”

“What?” Both Bobby and Cas were looking at him, apparently having called his name several times before. So that was a drawback. “Are we at the part where we tell them no again?”

Cas bit back a smile. Bobby crossed his arms, gruffly.

“Your sponsors are complaining about you being single.”

Dean crossed his arms back. Cas put his own hand on Dean’s knee to make up for Dean’s absence on his. “They’re _my_ sponsors. My problem. If they don’t like it, they can drop me.”

“But you’re not single.”

Dean smirked. “And that’s nobody’s goddamn business.”

Bobby hunched over. It wasn’t fair that he had to bear the brunt of this argument; Dean knew it was mostly Crowley and Naomi behind the scenes pulling the strings. But Bobby was the most likely out of the lot of them to get a ‘yes’, so he got to have the conversation.

They’d had the conversation several times before.

“If you and Castiel generate interest, you’ll get more matches.”

Dean knew his line. “And how long until the ‘Baby and Castiel’ storyline gets boring? And then the network has to ‘break us up’?”

Bobby massaged his temple. “You’ll get a significant pay bonus?”

Dean just snorted, not bothering to dignify that with a bigger response.

Bobby sighed, dropping both hands to the armrest of his chair. “Well, you know we had to try.”

Dean grinned, coming to a stand. “I know you did, Bobby.” He reached out to clasp his hand with Bobby’s. Bobby had been at their wedding; Dean knew he supported them. “No hard feelings. But tell Crowley to sit on a cactus for me, will ya?”

Bobby shook his head, but his mustache twitched again. “Get outta here, idjit.”

Cas stood and shook hands with Bobby, himself. Dean stuck his hand in Cas’s back pocket as they made their way out.

 

 

 

Benny and Dean were set to film their promo spot before leaving the arena the next day so it could air at Smackdown that week. He was in his jeans and his t-shirt and his hat and he was still wishing he could wear his cowboy boots. He wasn’t even wrestling that day! He couldn’t wear the boots even during a backstage segment? It was bullshit.

Benny was seated in their locker room set, polishing the belt. Dean rolled his eyes but sauntered in, smiling.

“Hey, Captain. No hard feelings.”

They could vaguely hear canned screams from behind the camera, meant to mimic where they should pause. The clip would be shown on the big screens above the ring during the Smackdown match and they knew the fans would have something to scream about it.

Benny looked up with a low chuckle once the recorded cheers died away. The way he looked at Dean through his eyelashes was more seductive than it had any right to be. “If you say so, Baby.”

“No, I mean it!” Dean said, wishing he could sit next to Benny. It was a more natural movement but it wasn’t a camera angle the network liked. They liked the camera to be looking up at the men to make them look bigger. Benny had to stand up. “Just because I’m gonna take that belt from you at Wrestlemania doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have it now.”

More screams from a box.

Wrestlemania was literally months away. Benny might not even have the belt then. But building drama and promoting pay-per views were two of the only things he was paid to do. That and actually wrestling.

Benny responded to Dean’s challenge by standing up. As he was scripted to.

“Awfully bold of you to think you can take me on. Big talk.”

Dean held up his hands, giving his best impression of a man seeking peace. “We’ve got time enough to see if I can walk the walk, Captain. For now, we got a job to do.”

Benny relaxed back on his heels, cheating out to the camera, with a smirk that was just edging on a sneer. “You mean our match next week against those fools in masks? I’m not worried.”

Dean bit back a wince. It was a fine line smack talking Los Cazadores. It could get racist really quickly. “They’re tough, Captain. Do you know what Los Cazadores means? It means ‘The Hunters.’ If they’re the hunters, I sure as hell don’t wanna be prey. We gotta work together. Make sure the only thing they’ll be hunting for is their honor.”

‘Honor’ was so hokey. Dean had wanted to say pride. He should have said pride. Dammit. But it was too late now – he had more lines.

“We’ve got a history, Captain. From NXT to Smackdown Live, we’ve had each other’s backs. Yeah we’ve fought, but we’re brothers. Brothers fight. Tell me you’re ready to take these suckers down at Tuesday Night Smackdown.”

Dean held out his hand. The left one, which was awkward, but he had to keep his body open to the camera. He’d let Benny turn to catch his hand.

Benny’s eyes glinted, knowing exactly what Dean was doing. So Dean was a camera hog – so what?

Benny chuckled again, this one sounding genuine thanks to Dean’s shenanigans, and clasped Dean’s hand with his own.

“Next week. You and me. Those Libres won’t know what hit ‘em.”

Dean clapped his hand to Benny’s shoulder to the tinny sound of more uproarious cheering and didn’t stop patting until the producer told them they were off. Then he brought Benny into a hug.

“You son of a bitch,” Benny said, laughing into his neck.

“The camera loves me, Benny. You shut your face.”

Benny pushed on his face and Dean moved in to punch him in the ribs.

“All right, gentleman,” Cas said, pulling Dean back. “Save the rough housing for the ring.”

“Nope!” Dean picked Cas up and carried him on his shoulders.

A laugh startled out of him. “Dean! Wait–”

“Sorry, can't hear you.”

“Dean, I have to be backstage! Abbadon–”

“Her name is Abbie, Cas, come on.”

“But–”

Dean was laughing but he stopped when he caught Charlie coming up on him like a fury.

“Shit.”

She stopped in front him, headset firmly in place and arms crossed.

“Drop him.”

Dean put his husband safely back on his feet.

Charlie turned to Cas. “Run.”

Cas ran.

Charlie turned back to Dean. Dean flinched.

“Why? I thought you loved me. Why do you make my job difficult?”

Dean shuffled his feet. “I wasn’t making _your_ job difficult.”

“Yes you were,” Charlie argued. “If Castiel missed his cue, Frank would have been pissed. Frank is my boss. When Frank is pissed, he needs someone to blame. He would have blamed you – because it was _your fault_ – and then, because I am your ‘handler’ he would have blamed me.”

Dean shrugged. “I could ask Ash to be my handler.”

“Over my dead body!” she shouted, turning on her heel and marching away. It was a couple of seconds before she turned and shouted at him, “AND DON’T DO IT AGAIN!”

Dean laughed and went to go watch Cas’s interview.

 

 

 

Dean could only be grateful that the live show hadn’t been too far from home. He’d resigned himself to having to take more flights than he’d like but he was always stoked when he didn’t have to.

“Honey, I’m home!” He threw his bags down in the entryway and jogged further into the house, leaving Cas to step over his stuff and shut the door.

“Dean, I’m behind you.”

Dean snorted in Cas’s general direction, eyes too busy scanning the kitchen. “I clearly wasn’t talking to you.”

He found his little goblin curled on a kitchen stool under the island.

“There she is! There’s my best girl!”

The Sphynx cat allowed herself to be scooped up and cuddled to Dean’s face, going so far as to chirp agreeably when he tossed her lightly in the air.

“Did Ben take care of you, sweetheart?” he purred into her neck. She purred back. “You know I hate leaving you. Please don’t put a curse on me.”

Dean could hear Cas laughing as he made his way up the stairs. “It’s funny but she’ll do it! She’s the Goblin King!” Dean called after him. Cas didn’t respond.

Dean huffed unhappily, lifting Jareth – named for the Labyrinth character –  so she could perch on his shoulders as he went to fetch some food.

He was hunched over, pulling various vegetables out of their produce drawer, when he felt the weight of the cat gone from his shoulders.

“Honestly, Dean, how many times have you almost shut her inside the fridge?” Cas asked, holding the cat like a baby. “She’s a fundamentally stupid animal: she’ll jump in again.”

“Shhh!” Dean shuffled the food he’d been holding into the crooks of his arms so he could free up his hands to put over her huge, bat-like ears. “She can _hear_ you.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Dean.”

Dean booped Cas on the nose. Then Jareth. Then he reached for the lunch meat.

“Should we pay Lisa more?” he asked, making his way around the island.

Cas paused in gifting his own hello kisses to their cat’s neck before answering. “Probably. Why?”

Dean lifted up his prize. “She bought me the good tomatoes.”

Cas’s eyes widened. “The ones from the good farmer’s market?”

“The one over in Decatur, yeah.” Dean nodded. “That had to have been a _hike_.”

Cas nodded, absently scratching Jareth’s ears. “Yeah, give her a raise. Her and Ben.”

“What? Why the kid?”

Cas held up Jareth so she was eye level with Dean. “Look at your child.”

Dean did. Her goblin eyes looked back at him. She was wearing her favorite sweater.

Dean sighed. “Yeah, okay. The kid too.” Cas pulled the cat back to his chest. Dean pointed at him. “But we can’t be too nice! Or else he’ll think he can throw parties here while we’re gone.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Sure, Dean.”

Dean hummed, turning back to their sandwiches.

Dean had balked when Cas had suggested hiring someone to keep their fridge stocked when they had to travel. Dean found grocery services far too bougie – not at all his style. He could get his own damn bread and milk, thank you very much.

And that had worked for a couple months. Dean just always made sure to stop at a store before coming home. Even if it had been after a long flight. And even if that long flight had been after a long match. And even if he had training early the next morning and all he wanted to do was go home and sleep after his long flight and long match. He would get his own damn groceries.

And then Cas had called him an idiot, they talked to their neighbor Lisa, and now Dean had groceries waiting for him when he got home.

It was better.

Dean felt less weird about paying someone he knew than he would if he hired some faceless service. He could text Lisa if he had a craving and Lisa could poke fun at him for his choice of breakfast cereals. Plus: her kid Ben was always willing to look out for Jareth. And the neighbor kid was way better than a kennel or some stranger Dean would have hired to cat sit.

So it was better.

“No mayo on mine, Dean,” Cas said absently, letting Jareth nuzzle his fingers. She’d moved to his shoulders at some point when Dean hadn’t been looking.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna eat this shit dry?”

“Of course not.” Cas looked horrified at the mere suggestion. “I read that greek yogurt was a healthy alternative.”

Dean choked. “You’re gonna put _yogurt_ on your sandwich?”

“No, you are,” Cas told him. “As you’re making it.”

“Like hell I am,” Dean said, pushing the stack of meat and cheese that was going to be Cas’s toward him. “Poison yourself if you want, but don’t make me an accomplice.”

Cas rolled his eyes but pulled his half-assembled dinner toward him to finish it.

Dean scowled, making sure to put extra mayo on his own sandwich to compensate for his husband’s sacrilege.

“What did mayo ever do to you?” he grumbled.

Cas hummed, sucking a bit of yogurt off his pinky.

It was playing dirty and he _knew_ it.

“I’m hoping to make my comeback soon, Dean.”

Dean was so distracted by Cas’s mouth he almost missed what he said. “And?”

Cas rolled his eyes. “And some of us don’t wear t-shirts as part of our costumes.”

Dean knew this, too. How could he not? Cas strutting into the ring in nothing but trunks and a long overcoat was a thing of dreams. The wet ones.

But while Benny had always been thicker around the middle and sported bare gut with pride, Cas had always had a six pack. He’d been the only actually ripped wrestler on the roster. Now, though...

Dean scoffed. “This is about your looks?”

Cas finished making his sandwich, cutting the crust off and not making eye contact.

Dean softened. “Babe.”

Cas shrugged, making a diagonal slice.

Dean abandoned his own sandwich to make his way around the island to his husband, pulling him in by the waist. Cas went easily, reaching with one hand to cup Dean’s elbow.

Dean leaned forward and kissed his forehead, waiting for Cas to look up at him. “Talk to me,” he said when Cas did.

Cas sighed, melting further into Dean’s hold. Dean could feel his fingers playing on the edge of his sleeve. “I’m not as young as I used to be, Dean,” he said, eyes heavy. “And I haven’t been active in almost a year.”

Dean shook his head. “And you think that makes you somehow _not_ the hottest motherfucker in the league?”

Cas’s mouth ticked up. Dean ran a thumb over his hip.

“I’m serious, buddy. This isn’t me blowing smoke up your ass. There’ve been polls.”

Cas chuckled lowly. Dean moved one of his hands to Cas’s backside.

“Do I need to send you the official twitter account for your ass?” Dean asked, tipping his head closer to Cas. “Because it has more followers than I do.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “That’s not that hard, Dean. You tweet maybe three times a year.”

“What do the kids say?” Dean asked, ignoring him. “Thick? But with two c’s?”

“Oh my God.” Cas pushed him away, laughing. “Fine. But let me eat dinner before we do any mutual butt touching.”

Dean pouted. “I can eat with one hand.”

“No you can’t.”

Dean pouted more but returned to his sandwich. “Whatever, I didn’t want to touch your butt anyway.”

Cas just took a bite of his sandwich, raising one eyebrow.

“Fuck off,” Dean said without bite. Cas winked.

Dean bit back a smirk. _And he’s back_.

  


 

 

Because Dean and Benny had filmed their spot before they’d left their last live event Dean and Cas didn’t have to be anywhere until Dean’s match on Tuesday in Florida. Rather than take a plane, Dean convinced Cas to use their rest day the Sunday before to make the drive.

“Bullshit,” Cas grumbled from the passenger seat. “Rest day means cuddling on the couch with my goddamn cat.”

“We can cuddle when we get to the hotel,” Dean told him reasonably, taking one hand off the wheel to rub his husband’s thigh.

“You are not a cat, Dean.”

Dean smacked his thigh lightly and kept driving.

They made good time – the drive from Atlanta to Tampa being around six hours. It wasn’t as bad of a drive as Dean was used to, having made worse trips by himself when he worked as a contractor before wrestling.

Cas, though – who had been wrestling since he was 19 in Japan and hadn’t spent more than 10 hours in a car, _total_ , before he was 27 – was deeply grumpy when they arrived.

“You wanna get a drink while I check in?” Dean asked, rather diplomatically, he thought.

Cas just gave him a look, turning his gaze toward the hotel bar just off the lobby. It was packed with people all screaming over a football game.

He turned back to Dean. “No.”

Dean snorted but wrapped an arm around Cas’s waist. Cas leaned into him, eyes falling shut as he rested his head on Dean’s shoulder.

It was a dangerous game they played: Dean wasn’t really sure what the rules were. They refused to let their relationship get written into a WWE storyline. They didn’t participate in WWE reality shows that took the audience behind the scenes. They didn’t post about each other on Twitter or Instagram. (Although, to be fair, they only had either of those platforms because PR made them. The only thing they did post about was upcoming matches.)

But it’s not like they were a secret. They weren’t _hiding_ . Anyone in this hotel could recognize them and take their photo, domestic looking as they were, and post it online. Dean and Cas weren’t worried about that. They weren’t going to confirm a relationship but it’s not like they really _cared_ if people knew.

It drove Crowley crazy. _“Well if you’re going to be open anyway!”_

Dean only ever shook his head. Crowley didn’t get it. That was his own problem.

The family in front of them finished checking in and the girl behind the counter smiled at Dean and Cas in welcome. “Hi! Checking in?”

“Yes ma’am.” Dean smiled back, gently nudging Cas’s head off his shoulder so he could interact like a person. “We’re with Smackdown. Winchester.”

Cas straightened a bit – still slumped against Dean, but his head at least upright and alert. His eyes were settled in a passive stare on the counter girl.

She just smiled brightly: the perfect image of customer service. Her name tag said ‘Stacy.’

She turned away, clicked on the computer. Her eyebrows creased, slightly. “I have Winchester-Novak?”

Dean groaned. Cas rubbed a hand over his back.

“Yeah, that’s us.” Dean sighed.

She brightened right back up. “Great! IDs?”

Dean grunted, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Cas had to let go of him so he could rummage in the pocket of his jacket.

They handed the perky girl their IDs and she examined them quickly, only doing the slightest of double takes.

“Okay, that looks fine!” She handed their IDs back and started clicking again on the computer.

Without slowing her hands, she asked, “So where does ‘Novak’ come from?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “The boss man likes to conveniently forget we didn’t hyphenate.”

Stacy startled a bit, probably at the hostility in Dean’s tone.

Cas rubbed a hand over his back again.

“Novak was my maiden name,” he explained to to her.

Dean snorted. “You were never a maiden, man.”

“Well, there’s not really a precedent in western culture for the name a man had before getting married.” Cas’s head tilted in thought. “I suppose birth name would work.”

Dean shrugged. “Family name?”

Cas just blinked at him, surprised. “But you’re my family.”

Dean smiled softly, politely ignoring the cooing of Stacy from behind her desk. “You’re my family too, you dork.” He turned back to Stacy who had a hand over her mouth. He tried not to roll his eyes. “Are we good to go then?”

Her bright smile emerged from behind her hand. “Yes indeedy! Here are your keys.” She handed them a paper sleeve with key cards in it. “And a complimentary cookie for you, also.”

Dean grinned, pulling away from Cas. “Sweet!”

Cas snorted, hiking their bags over his shoulder as Dean busied himself with unwrapping the cookies. “Thank you very much, Stacy,” he told her, bowing his head to her.

She blushed. “Enjoy your stay!”

They both nodded and headed for the elevators.

Dean elbowed him. “Did you see how she blushed?”

“Dean.” Cas sighed.

“I’m just saying!” Dean said, holding a hand up in the universal sign of ‘I’m just saying.’ “You’re definitely still hot.”

Cas rolled his eyes and elbowed Dean back. Dean leaned over and kissed his cheek.

 

 

 

Dean’s match wasn’t until Tuesday but Cas had to make an appearance during RAW on Monday night. Luckily, Raw was in Orlando that week, so Cas only needed to make the three hour drive round trip. Dean could tell even the thought was exhausting to him.

Being too tired to do much besides settle in and watch _Brooklyn 99_ after arriving in Tampa, Cas and Dean decided to meet up with Jesse and Cesar for lunch the next day instead of meeting for a dinner like they usually did.

“That means you have to get up early, you know,” Cas said, pulling Dean in to sit between his legs. “So you can get your full training in before lunch.”

“I know,” Dean grumbled, settling against Cas’s chest. “Are _you_ going to be able to manage it?”

Cas pressed his face into Dean’s hair. Dean could feel the edges of his smile. “ _I_ don’t have to.”

Dean elbowed him, lightly. “Bullshit.” Cas shoved him back. Dean knocked his head into Cas’s. “You’re training too. Or did you _want_ your comeback to take another year?”

Cas hummed, dispassionately. Dean ran an absent hand over his husband’s leg.

“There’s breakfast at the hotel at like 6,” Dean said, by way of incentive.

Cas just grunted, wrapping his arms more firmly around Dean, pulling him to his chest.

Dean snorted but quieted down as the show started.

The next morning, they were up bright and early. Dean had to steer Cas to the lobby – making sure he didn’t run into anything before he’d gotten his coffee.

Dean frowned longingly at the spread of french toast and breakfast potatoes, instead making his way over to grab a hardboiled egg and half a piece of toast. At least he was doing better than Cas, who just grabbed a banana in addition to his coffee.

They’d have time for a better breakfast later. But Dean was sure the french toast wouldn’t be as good then.

They headed to the hotel gym with Cas still working on his banana. They’d have a more centralized workout at the actual venue after lunch, but they still had to do some lifting and endurance training this morning. Well, Dean would get a more intensive workout after lunch. Cas was still barred from a ring until he was cleared by his physical therapist.

“Bullshit,” Cas grunted from his treadmill next to Dean’s. He wasn’t even breathing hard. “I’m fine.”

And he was. Mostly. His endurance hadn’t suffered at all – his running and stamina leagues above Dean’s own. But Dean was still nervous about Cas doing anything upper-body intensive.

He wanted Cas to train – he wanted Cas back – but watching him put strain on himself after his injury...

He was Castiel: Angel of The Ring. He’d been coined ‘The Angel’ early on, when he’d started in Japan. Fans said his intense expression in the ring and his signature use of rope-leaps and spread arms made him look like an avenging angel – his wide swings looking like a man in flight.

He’d leaned into that: swinging and leaping and flying for two decades. And, about a year ago, it had been too much.

It took a dislocated shoulder to bring The Angel down.

Dean kept up on the treadmill, not looking at his husband.

Normally, it took about three months for an athlete to return after a torn lebrum. But Cas being Cas, and their lives being what they were… there were some complications.

Cas was stubborn. Didn’t let himself heal properly. Being on the road all the time and following Dean to his matches certainly hadn't helped. Dean carried the guilt of that.

“Doc’s orders, Cas,” Dean said, puffing away. “I want you back, too. But it’s jumping the shark that’s had you out so long in the first place.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Gun, Dean. You mean gun.”

“I know what I meant,” Dean snapped. “There is no blood in my brain right now, give me a fucking break.”

Cas laughed at him, not winded in the slightest. Smug bitch.

They made it through the rest of their workout (luckily only squats and leg lifts so nothing for Dean to be anxious about) and headed back to their room to shower just an hour before they were set to meet the former luchadores.

Jesse Machete and Cesar Espada, or Los Cazadores, were actually a married couple by the names of Jesse and Cesar Cuevas. They were the only other gay couple in WWE and Dean and Cas tried to meet up with them whenever they could. Both for solidarity and just because they were cool.

They met up at Hattricks, a pub in downtown.

“Well look at you!” Cesar greeted them, pulling Cas into a hug. Jesse went to Dean with a handshake. “You’re certainly looking better than the last time we saw you.”

“Still a surly son of a bitch, though,” Jesse said, clasping Cas’s hand.

Dean laughed while Cas scowled theatrically. Dean brought up a hand to rub over his back.

Jesse and Cesar had already grabbed a table and ordered them each a beer.

“Just one, though,” Cas insisted. “I still have to work tonight. And Dean still has half a workout to get through.”

Dean grimaced and Cas winked. Jesse and Cesar laughed.

“Any plans for you getting back in the ring, Castiel?”

Cas shrugged, running a thumb over the neck of his bottle. “Some. Nothing concrete.” He brought the beer up to his lips and muttered into it. “Damn doctors.”

Jesse hummed in sympathy. Cesar rolled his eyes.

“If you’d listened to your doctors in the first place you’d be wrestling by now,” Cesar said.

Dean snapped and pointed at him. The ‘that’s what I said!’ self evident.

Jesse grinned. “Yeah. Then it would be you tagging with Dean tomorrow instead of Benny.” He barked a laugh. “Can you imagine? Battle of the gays.”

“Bisexual,” Dean and Cas said together. Jesse snorted. “And anyway, Benny’s bi,” Dean continued.

Jesse rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his own beer. “You think people remember that when they’ve got Andrea on Total Divas?”

Cesar nodded. “When your wife is touting you around on a reality show, people forget you’ve got your own sexual identity, bro.”

Dean sighed, taking a sip of his own beer. He knew that, of course. It was one of the reasons he and Cas weren’t public about their relationship.

He was the Bisexual Cowboy. That was his brand. As soon as he let Crowley write the fact that he’d married a man into his narrative, people were going to start calling him Gay Cowboy.

Dean wasn’t going to let that happen. Absolutely no bi-erasure on his watch.

“They’re the lucky ones,” Dean said instead. “‘Least they’re still together.”

They all nodded, lifting their beers in memory of the fallen relationships of their friends.

That was the other reason. Too many times, Dean had seen real life wrestling couples get their relationship written into their story-line. And too often, the pressure split them up.

He trusted his relationship with Cas. He liked where they were – they were cat-dads, for God’s sake!

But Cas was already going through so much stress with his shoulder and once he started wrestling again, they wouldn’t be spending as much time together.

It was better this way. Fuck Crowley.

Conversation moved on, talking about the upcoming match and where they were scheduled next. They didn’t talk about Royal Rumble. They didn’t talk about Cas’s shoulder.

Dean felt better once he got some real food in him. He usually did, but it was especially bad during a training day. When he couldn’t eat anything substantial until he’d already been working out for hours and his nerves were really on edge. And it had been even worse when Cas had started training with him again.

Thankfully, Cas had managerial things to do that afternoon, so Dean kissed him goodbye and went with Jesse and Cesar by himself to the arena for training. It sucked Cas couldn’t come with them, because he was Dean’s husband and Dean missed him when he wasn’t there. But on the other hand… Dean needed to focus on training. And it was hard to do that when he was worried about Cas ripping his shoulder out of its socket.

Cesar had to do some PT on his ankle after a turn during a match over the weekend, so Jesse and Dean sparred for a while. There was a reason that Baby and The Captain and Los Cazadores were paired up for a match and that was because they were all relatively the same size. Cas was about Dean’s height, but he was more compact. And fucking _toned_ . Dean was thick and muscled, but Cas was like _David_. And that gay bitch Michelangelo knew what the fuck he was doing.

Dean appreciated it, aesthetically. But it meant Cas was more likely to get matches with Balthazar or Gordon than with him. Which made _no_ sense, because Gabriel and Gadreel were a tag-team and they were in completely different weight classes. But hey, the network’s gonna do what the network’s gonna do.

Meanwhile: sparring.

Dean went through his usual moves, parrying and getting some good shots in, pulling his punches before anything landed. They mostly just danced around each other – bouncing off the ropes and practicing their falls to make sure they looked real on tv but they wouldn’t actually hurt themselves.

Dean had always said this: Wrestling may be scripted but it sure as hell wasn’t fake.

Soon enough, Cesar was done with his PT and Jesse broke from Dean to go work with his husband. Dean figured this was a good opportunity to work on his flip bump and so took himself to another ring so he could throw himself bodily at the mat.

Dean’s normal trainer, Billie, was back in Atlanta working at the gym there. There were professional trainers here he worked with and he liked well enough, but something about Billie’s unimpressed face always made him work harder. He didn’t do as well when it was just Joshua blinking at him.

Dean checked his watch and begged off training – feigning reluctance. There were only so many times you could hurl your body at the ground with a gentle man saying, “Good, do it again.” before you wanted to be done.

He hadn’t told Cas that he planned on driving with him to Orlando. He knew Cas would only lecture him about getting the proper amount of rest before a match. _“You call me irresponsible, Dean._ ” Dean didn’t want to hear it.

Of course he was going to hear it either way when Cas caught him in their room, holding up the Impala’s keys.

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust me to drive myself to Orlando?”

“Of course not,” Dean said easily. Cas rolled his eyes but the skin around his eyes creased with a smile.

“Billie’s going to kick your ass when she finds out you cut out on your training early.”

Dean winced. “Probably.”

Cas shook his head, not bothering to argue further.

Dean knew he’d married a smart fella.

 

 

 

It was later than either of them had anticipated when they got back to the hotel that night.

Dean collapsed on the bed, not bothering to remove his shoes. Cas smacked him on the calf. “Come on. Shower.”

Dean grumbled incoherently.

“No, it’s your fault you’re this tired. I could have gone by myself.”

Dean grunted in protest. Cas smacked his ass this time.

“Up. You’re going to hate yourself if you have to wake up early to shower tomorrow morning.”

Dean grumbled more but pulled himself up, hanging off of Cas as much as possible.

Cas kept him responsive enough to actually wash by joining him in the shower, kissing him periodically to wake his brain up. There was a time Dean would have pressed his luck and seen if they could squeeze some mutual orgasms into this shower, but as it was, he was too comfortable and too exhausted to do anything but keep himself standing. And Cas was doing most of the work with that in the first place.

“Dean,” Cas kissed the back of his neck. Dean hummed. “I’m turning the water off, okay?” Dean hummed again.

Cas pulled him out of the shower, wrapping them both in one of those huge and fluffy hotel towels that couldn’t be replicated anywhere but a hotel. Cas gave them both a quick rub down before guiding Dean to the bed, dropping him into it naked before hitting the lights and curling under the blankets with him.

Dean expended the last of his energy craning his neck to kiss the underside of Cas’s jaw. “Thank you.”

Cas snorted, settling himself comfortably around Dean. “Next time, it’s your turn. I get to be the grumpy, sleepy one.”

“You get to be the grumpy, sleepy one every morning.”

Cas swatted at him but, with their tiredness and under the confines of the blanket, it wasn’t anything more than a light tap.

Dean chuckled, shaking his ass a bit against Cas. “Nothing says love like drying off your husband’s flaccid dick. And not even after anything fun!”

Cas snorted. “Go to sleep, Dean.”

Dean was asleep before Cas finished the order.

 

 

 

Dean did hate himself in the morning, but that was no one’s fault.

“No, it’s completely your fault you’re so tired,” Cas told him, bent over his oatmeal, equally as exhausted. “I said it last night and I’ll say it again.”

“Ungrateful…”

Cas gave him an unimpressed look and turned back to his breakfast.

Their (read: Dean’s) workout wasn’t as intense that morning – Dean needing to conserve energy for the match later in the day. Just an hour of cardio and some light gymnastics work to stay limber. The gymnastics cheered Cas up some: he loved being able to show off and he was _way_ more flexible than Dean was.

The hours leading up to the actual match involved hanging out with other wrestlers backstage. Dean had a good time catching up with some of the superstars he hadn’t seen in a while, like Anna and Donna. He hadn’t seen Anna since her very public – very _publicized_ – breakup with RAW wrestler, Ruby, at last year’s Summer Slam. They’d broken up on their own – the distance since the Raw/Smackdown split putting a strain on their relationship – but since their romance had been written into their storylines, the producers had plotted out a very public scene at the biggest wrestling event of the year. Dean couldn’t imagine trying to recover from a failed relationship only to have to dramatically reenact the whole thing for thousands of fans. They’d booed Anna out of the arena. And Anna wasn’t even the heel!

It was fucked up. Dean wouldn’t do it.

She seemed fine enough now – she and Donna both teasing him about his concealer.

“Late night, Dean-o?” Donna asked, eyes glinting.

“Should we get you some coffee or something? I’m sure Cas has something that will get you up.”

Dean scowled, making them laugh. “Fuck both of you.”

“If your hubby’s coming I’ll consider it,” Donna said, shrugging.

Anna cackled.

Dean rolled his eyes, glancing over at said hubby who was catching up with some wrestlers he’d known in Japan. They used to be a team – The Garrison – before Cas broke off to come wrestle for Smackdown. They ended up coming as a pair themselves, under the names “Michael and Lucifer” (Which? Lame.) and Dean was always nervous whenever Cas talked to them. He wasn’t sure if they were really cool with everything.

They looked fine. Like Anna, they seemed to be teasing Cas about something – smiling genially. Maybe it was the endorphins of the night. Maybe it was water under the bridge. Maybe there was never a problem at all and Dean was finding conflict where there was none. All of those scenarios were equally as likely; Dean’s ADHD just made him think everything all the time really fast. He’d be sure to ask Cas what he thought about it later. Cas was usually more level-headed about these things.

Then again… Cas was also closer to this issue having wrestled with these guys for years. He might be deceived.

The ladies were laughing at him and Dean pulled his focus back.

“What?”

Anna was trying to catch her breath. Donna had a hand pressed to her chest, wheezing.

“Does that happen a lot?” she asked on a shaky breath, grinning madly. “You just stare at your husband and completely zone out?”

Dean blushed but adjusted his shoulders as if he were unaffected. “Me zoning out has nothing to do with Cas.”

They both looked at him, unimpressed.

“It’s got a little bit to do with Cas,” he allowed.

They both snorted.

“Whatever.” He flexed his shoulders again. “Donna, whatever happened with that guy?”

“Doug?”

“Wasn’t the last guy’s name Doug?”

Anna snorted again and Dean was just glad it wasn’t at him this time. “They were both named Doug.”

Dean tilted his chin at her. “Donna.”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” she said, pointing at him. “And anyway, he’s gone.”

Dean winced. “Was he a dick, too? I told you, Donna, you gotta let me meet them with you.”

“ _No_ , he wasn’t a dick.” Donna put her hands on her hips. For one of the most powerful wrestlers in the division, she looked so cute and pouty when she did that. “He’s a good man. A gentleman. He just…” Her arms fell with a sigh. “He couldn’t handle the life.”

Anna and Dean both nodded. There was a reason wrestlers mostly dated other wrestlers.

That had its drawbacks, obviously, but civilians didn’t get it. They were always worried you’d hurt yourself or they were upset you were gone all the time. They didn’t like the drama or the fans or the bruising. They didn’t get the adrenaline – the addiction.

Wrestlers were gladiators, just without the slavery and death part.

Dean reached forward to curl an arm around his friend. “I’m sorry, hon.” He kissed her temple. “I know some great guys in NXT. One’s even coming up to the main roster soon. You’ll love him.”

Donna squeezed him back once before pushing him away. “That will actually be unnecessary, Dean.” She was grinning. And she was blushing. “I actually already met someone. From my hometown, if you’ll believe it.”

Dean and Anna glanced at each other skeptically.

Anna tried first. “Donna, how many times–”

“It’s different this time!”

Dean and Anna glanced at each other again. They’d heard that before.

“No, really!” Donna looked impatient. “She’s the police chief. So she can’t be mad at me about getting hurt because that would just make her a hypocrite.”

Dean carefully didn’t startle at the pronoun. He hardly had room to talk about sexuality but he’d honestly thought she was straight. “Oh?”

Donna nodded, smiling again. “Her name is Jody. She’s got a kid, but I also used to be married so it’s not like that’s a problem. And Alex is so sweet! Well, not sweet, but she’s a good kid.”

Dean crossed his arms, grinning back now. “And how long has _this_ been going on that you’ve met the kids?”

Donna shrugged. “Just a couple months.”

“A couple _months!”_ Anna punched her in the arm. “I saw you two weeks ago and you didn’t tell me _shit!_ ” She pointed directly in her face. “I am your gay friend. How could you keep this from me?”

Donna grabbed her finger and yanked it back, causing Anna to yelp. “Next time, I’ll take it off.”

Dean was still laughing when the women were called to get ready for their entrances.

Dean didn’t do his monologue when he came out for his match. He entered after Benny but before Los Cazadores and it wouldn’t have made much sense within the context of the match. Instead, he and Benny did a little reminiscing about past matches, some brotherly hand-shaking, and a lot of smack talk.

Jesse and Cesar came out, flipping over each other and looking generally wild in their masks. The masks did sometimes come off, distinguishing them from regular lucha libres, but it was still steeped in that tradition.

Their entrance was very cool. Dean had to keep a smug stank face on as he watched them come out but he genuinely enjoyed it every time.

It was Jesse and Benny in the ring first. The four of them didn’t speak much before the starting bell. And then they were off.

Benny went straight for it, running for a rope and then bouncing off of it in a spear. Jesse hit the mat, rolling back and onto his feet so he could leap forward and grab Benny around the neck and pull him down backwards in an elevated cutter.

The difference between actual fights like boxing or MMA and what Dean and his friends did with the WWE was that, while they were athletes, they were mostly performers. They were there to entertain. To put on a good show.

That meant reactions got played up. There was time between moves for the audience to appreciate what had just happened. There was time for a wrestler to roll on the mat in pain that there wouldn’t be if the other wrestler were actually trying to win.

Benny curled up, clutching his shoulder as if he’d landed on it wrong. And he may have, but what Dean was getting was that Jesse needed time to get into position for his next move.

Which he had. While Benny was moaning in ‘pain,’ Jesse had climbed the ring post and was gearing up for a flying elbow drop. Jesse leapt and came down right where Benny had been, but Benny rolled out of the way at the last second, leaving Jesse to curl up on the arm that he’d _obviously_ just grievously injured.

While Jesse was on the ground, Benny swooped in to come under Jesse’s leg and get him in a pin, but Jesse kicked out at the last second. Benny stood up, taking a lap around the ring in apparent exasperation.

Dean leaned casually against the side of the ring. Well, not so casually, as he kept smacking his hand on the ground and yelling at the refs. It was a hard balance to play the smooth cowboy but also be energetic and interesting enough for a big crowd.

Jesse stood up and Benny went back in with a kick and a punch straight to the chest which knocked Jesse back against the ropes. When he was there, Benny shoved him over into a headlock, ‘accidentally’ making his mask slide back. The bottom half of Jesse’s face was in such agony, Dean totally got why Cesar would jump in the ring to rip him out of Benny’s grip.

That wasn’t ‘technically’ allowed, but Dean figured the refs would count it as a tag in, since Jesse dropped out of the ring immediately after. He collapsed on the concrete floor of the arena as his husband took over. He’d probably stay there until Dean did something out of line.

Speaking of Dean: Benny was trapped in a submission move in the middle of the ring, his hand reaching desperately to tag Dean in. Or tag Baby in. Either way.

Dean reached back, showing more strain in his face than what he was feeling. Benny just tapped his fingers and Dean was rolling into the ring, immediately doing a flip and landing with his knees on Cesar’s stomach.

They’d practiced this move earlier in the day. Cesar had insisted that Dean could actually land on him and it wouldn’t hurt him. Dean was used to landing this in a stage way: his feet connecting with the floor before his weight hit the other person. But Cesar had insisted he do it for real.

These goddamn lucha libres never wanted anyone to pull their punches. It’s why their careers only lasted half as long as WWE wrestlers.

But Cesar was Dean’s friend and Dean would respect him enough to actually beat the shit out of him instead of faking it.

So Cesar curling up and gasping for breath was probably at least partially real.

Dean didn’t wait for Cesar to catch his breath. He got him in pinning position and held for two counts, waiting for Cesar to kick out on the third.

Cesar waited a bit too long. Dean let go and reacted as if he hadn’t.

Shit, had Dean actually hurt him?

He glanced to the side of the ring where he saw Jesse looking in, his mask totally gone now. He looked about as worried as Dean felt, only Dean couldn’t show it.

Dean was supposed to wrestle with Cesar for a little bit longer but Dean was changing the script. He got Cesar up against the post next to Jesse, hoping Cesar would take the bait. He did, thankfully, and tagged Jesse in right when Dean was winding up to punch him.

Jesse ended up taking the hit instead. He and Dean hadn’t trained this part but Dean knew Jesse knew it. So they did the moves he and Cesar were supposed to do, plus the choreography they’d trained for themselves.

Jesse was visibly more tired than he should have been when Dean tagged Benny back in. It was a good thing Los Cazadores were slated to lose.

Benny got the finishing move because he was the champion. Which was bullshit, but Dean was set to win a match against Ketch later in the week so he would deal.

Jesse also got to lose by pin, which Dean was bitter about. Poor Ketch was going to get so much of Dean’s misdirected anger on Friday…

Jesse went down easy and Dean jumped in the ring to hug Benny and get his hand raised. He watched Jesse help Cesar out of the arena from the middle of the ring, neither of them interacting with the crowd as much as they normally would have.

_Shit_.

He smiled and jeered and did his job, making his way out of the arena, clapping as many fans on the hand as he could reach, but as soon as he was backstage, he took off running to the med bay.

This was a performance arena, so ‘med bay’ was just an unused dressing room with a temporary treatment-table and a first aid kit.

Cesar was there on the table, sitting up, thankfully.

“Hey, man, you okay?”

“ _Yes!_ ”

Dean visibly recoiled at the venom in his voice.

Cesar sighed, wincing and grabbing at his ribs. He shot a glare at Jesse who was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed.

“Sorry,” he said, this time calmer. “Yes, I’m fine.”

Dean looked at Jesse for confirmation. Jesse’s expression was pinched but he didn’t disagree.

Dean pulled himself up on the table next to Cesar. “What did the doc say?”

Cesar shrugged. “Bruised rib. I’ve had worse.”

Jesse snorted, mumbling something that sounded like _‘concussion’_ under his breath. Cesar ignored him.

“It’s not your fault, man. I want to thank you for not pulling your punches.”

Now Dean snorted. This time Cesar rolled his eyes.

“You’re both being stupid.” He shoved Dean off the table, causing Dean to stumble. “I was obviously playing it up. That’s my _job_.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but just then there was a knock on the doorframe.

“Cesar,” Cas said, his eyebrows furrowed in worry. “How are you doing?”

Cesar took a deep breath, his hand twitching toward his side again. “I’m fine, Castiel.”

“Sure, you don’t bite _his_ head off. That’s fine.”

Cas rolled his eyes at his husband but stepped further into the room. “Is it the ribs?”

Cesar nodded, repeating what he’d said to Dean. “I’ve had worse.”

“Sure, fifteen years ago,” Jesse spat. “And you didn’t tell them you were on concussion watch.”

Cesar scoffed. “‘Concussion watch.’ These gringos are so soft.”

Jesse’s face was hard. “I’m telling Bobby to cancel our appearance tomorrow.”

“No the fuck you are _not_.”

“Guys!” Dean held up a hand. “What’s the appearance?”

“It’s not even wrestling!” Cesar threw up his hands, manfully swallowing a wince. “We’re smack talking at a live show in Orlando.”

“Cesar, a car ride like that would only exacerbate your pain,” Cas said, solemnly. “You should at least take tomorrow to rest.”

Cesar just raised an eyebrow at him and said nothing. He didn’t have to.

Dean had to pipe in as the voice of reason. It was so rare for him, it felt weird. “Can you record your script here and they project it in Orlando? Or you could just stream it?”

Cesar scowled at him, the ‘Et tu, Brute?’ going without saying. But he nodded. Jesse’s shoulders relaxed.

Cas nodded. “You both recuperate in here: Dean and I will tell Bobby.”

“He’s gonna want a chance to yell at me anyway,” Dean sighed, mournfully.

“Not your fault, brother!” Cesar called. “If Bobby’s got a problem tell him to deal with me!”

Cas and Dean laughed as they left the room, Cas bringing his arm around Dean.

Dean leaned into it for a second before pulling away. “I’m gonna have to send Jesse an edible arrangement or something.”

Cas dropped his arm, tilting his head. “Jesse and not Cesar? Why?”

“Cesar wouldn’t take it.” Dean shrugged, looking ahead as he walked and not at Cas. “And Jesse’s the one that had to watch his husband get hurt in the ring.”

There was a moment of tense silence between them and then Dean felt a brush of fingers against his. He let Cas take his hand.

They didn’t say anything else until they got to Bobby’s office door.

 

 

 

“Dean. Spar with me.”

Dean didn’t say anything, instead landing another kick against the punching bag.

A huff. “ _Dean_. Come on.”

Dean landed a jab then a kick then another jab firmly on the bag.

An arm snaked up and across his chest, the other arm curling around his waist. Both suddenly yanked him back into a rear suplex, throwing Dean’s body over his own. Dean leapt into it, knowing it would hurt both of them more if he actually let Cas pull him down. They landed on the floor together, but Dean rolled backwards onto his feet.

Fuck, but this wasn’t the ring. There weren’t springs on this floor. Fuck.

“ _Fuck_.” He reached behind him to feel the muscles of his back. “Cas–”

But Cas was in his face, landing a kick against his ribs and spinning, dramatically, to clip him with his arm.

Dean dodged, ducking under Cas’s arm and wrapping his arms around his torso, physically lifting him onto his shoulder. Then he walked away with Cas draped there.

Cas didn’t even fight. He just sighed, slumping further down Dean’s back, and let himself be carried away.

The nearest open practice ring was down the hall from the equipment room where Dean had been practicing on the bag, but Dean had a lot of practice carrying his husband like this. Why wasn’t important.

He threw Cas between the ropes and Cas sprung up like a jack-in-the-box, bouncing on his toes as he waited for Dean to take his gloves off.

Dean rolled his eyes, unwrapping his hands. “I’m not sure if this is a good idea, Cas. Your doctor–”

“My doctor is an asshole,” Cas answered, not letting Dean finish. They’d had this conversation before. And Cas wasn’t wrong: Dr. Adler was a _super_ asshole. He specialized in sports medicine and didn’t seem to think WWE was an actual sport. But he was the best in their area so he’d been the one assigned by the network when Cas was injured.

He didn’t seem too concerned _when_ Cas would be able to return to the ring, so Cas was right in thinking he might not be trusted in how far along Cas was in his recovery.

But Dean had seen Cas pull that same shoulder too many times, jumping in before it was ready.

He didn’t want to see it again.

Cas threw himself against the ropes, blowing off steam. Dean knew the feeling. He had a very short refractory clock when it came to wrestling. It could only be hours after Dean’s last match and he’d want to- _need_ to be in the ring again.

So Dean rolled into the ring. If Cas needed to spar, Dean would spar. At least Dean could trust himself not to hurt him.

“No arm bars,” Dean told him. “And your ass is staying off that top rope.”

Cas just shrugged his acceptance, bouncing on his toes and beckoning Dean with one hand.

Dean ran at him, going low so Cas could dive over his back, twisting in mid air and bringing Dean down onto his face. The Smite.

Dean went down. They got back up. They did it again.

Dean took him through all his old standards – going down easily and being very aware of how he grabbed onto Cas. Not too much weight on the shoulder. Don’t pull too hard on his elbow. Don’t let him land wrong on his left side.

No one Cas wrestled in an actual match would be this careful. And Cas knew that.

He shoved Dean in no WWE approved way Dean knew of. “Come on, Dean you’re not even trying.”

Dean dropped into a roll, coming up behind Cas and lightly bringing him down to his knees. “No one should be trying to hurt you, Cas.”

Cas flipped them, making Dean land on his back in a perfect pinning position. He kicked out.

“But you’re not even trying to take me down.”

Dean huffed, coming back to his feet. “No. Because we’re practicing _your_ moves. You’re the one that needs the practice.”

Cas snorted. He did a front handspring, landing with his thighs on Dean’s shoulders, his hand gripping the back of Dean’s head to steady himself, and then twisting his body to bring Dean spinning to the ground. It was a move not a ton of male wrestlers could pull off – a takedown modeled after Black Widow – but Cas was limber as hell. And he was The Angel. Flying moves were well within his wheelhouse.

He stood over Dean, smirking. “I don’t think you need to worry about me, sweetheart,” Cas said, his voice gravelly and smug.

Dean growled, using his position on the floor to grab Cas’s ankles and launch his legs up and around Cas’s waist, twisting his hips so that Cas landed on his back. Cas let out a soft ‘oof,’ as if he’d forgotten how to bump.

“You know what? You’re right.” Dean rolled to his knees, pulling Cas’s leg up onto his shoulder so he could pin him. “That sounded like a hard fall there, huggy bear, how ya’ feelin’?”

“Fuck you.” Cas twisted out, kicking Dean in the stomach as he went. Hard.

Dean wheezed, collapsing on his back while Cas rolled back to his feet. “Jesus shit, Cas, we gotta re-teach you how to act?”

Cas had been bouncing again, ready to keep sparring, but at Dean’s words he frowned and fell out his attack pose. The fight left him limb by limb until he stood there, frowning and loose, staring down at Dean with the same sad eyes Dean had seen all the months Cas had been out of commission.

He sighed, the last of his determined aggression deflating. He held out a hand to Dean. Dean took it and Cas pulled him up.

“Sorry,” Cas grumbled.

Dean took a deep breath, letting his lungs get back to their regularly scheduled breathing, and pulled Cas into him. He kissed his husband’s hair when Cas came easily. “‘S’okay.”

Cas sighed again and brought his arms up Dean’s back, resting his temple against Dean’s. Yeah, they were both sweaty and gross, but if that kind of thing were to stop Dean and Cas from cuddling, they would never fucking touch each other.

“I’m so tired of not being ready,” Cas mumbled. “I’ve felt ready for a year. But they won’t let me.”

“Cas–”

“I know,” Cas bit out. “I know my body hasn’t been ready but–” he went limp in Dean’s arms, forcing Dean to hold up his entire weight. “This flesh suit is a prison. Fuck this body.”

“I have,” Dean pointed out.

Cas snorted, weakly, before gathering his legs under him so he could support himself again. He pushed Dean away.

“Are you good?” He didn’t wait for Dean to answer. “Good. Again.”

Dean crossed his arms. “No.”

Cas huffed, going into a front handspring to take Dean down with his thighs again. Dean caught him before he got a grip, spinning him around and planting him back on his feet.

Cas pouted at him. Dean laughed. “There’s a reason that move only works in movies and wrestling, Cas: you need the other person to play along.”

Cas huffed again, latching onto Dean’s arm and twisting it behind him. Dean twisted with it, grabbing Cas by his wrist and gently pulling him into a spin. Cas sighed, allowing himself to be danced.

“We’re done for the day,” Dean told him, bringing their bodies into a sway.

Cas opened his mouth to protest, but Dean kissed him quiet.

“We’re done,” he whispered. Cas relented, kissing him again as they slow-danced around the ring.

No matter how romantic, there was only so long you could dance in an empty ring without any music. You got bored. So they were only swaying for four minutes before Dean started humming offkey and Cas made a terrible joke and they just started laughing, gave up on the gym entirely, and decided to go home.

 

 

 

Dean and Cas lived in Atlanta for a reason.

Well, many reasons. Starting with being close to Sam and ending with being _away_ from the rest of the WWE universe.

It wasn’t the wrestlers they had a problem with: it was the industry. Most of the wrestlers started in NXT, which was based out of Winter Park, Florida. And even when they moved up to Smackdown or RAW, most wrestler stayed there. The corporate offices were in Connecticut, the major events were in New York… Dean and Cas were safely out of the way.

But Crowley still found them.

How Dean wished he could just slam the door in his face.

Instead, he bared his teeth in a way that could barely be considered a smile. “What can I do for you, Mr. Crowley?”

Crowley glanced briefly at the hairless cat perched curiously on Dean’s shoulder before jumping straight to business. That was one thing that could be said for Crowley: he didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“I have a new offer that might tickle your fancy.”

Smarmy English prick. At least he didn’t look like he expected an invitation into the house.

“I assume this offer is about me and Cas.”

“Obviously.”

Dean rolled his eyes then called for Cas who was somewhere further in the house.

Cas came up next to him and Jareth immediately abandoned ship to perch on Cas’s shoulders. Her tail stayed curled around Dean’s neck, though. That was comforting.

“Fergus,” Cas greeted. Crowley scowled.

“Castiel. I have an offer.”

Cas rolled his eyes. Dean smirked.

“We’d _love_ to hear it,” he said, putting an arm around Cas’s waist. “Since it was important enough for you to come all the way here. To our house. On our day off.”

Crowley readjusted his grip on his briefcase. Dean never saw him without it. He could only guess it was full of comprehensive contracts, ready for signing at a moment’s notice. That and the live mice Crowley packed for lunch.

“Not to sound too managerial for you boys but as athletes and personalities, you don’t really get a day off.”

“Our rest day, then,” Cas shot back, unflinchingly.

“Yes, well.” Crowley settled into his best and most terrible smirk. “Circumstances as they are, I thought it best to get things underway as soon as possible. So we’re ready.”

Dean took the bait. “Ready for what?”

Crowley’s smirk turned even more Grinch-like. “For when Los Cazadores announce their retirement.”

Dean felt as if all air had been sucked out of his lungs.

“Jesse and Cesar?” Cas asked. “No, we just saw them.”

“In light of Cesar’s recent injury…” at this, Crowley cast a very obvious look at Dean. Dean took a shaky breath but glared at him with all the malice he could muster. “The two have approached me with a request to resign. Bug all to me – they weren’t exactly headliners. But then I think: a sudden retirement? At the same time? That could spark all kinds of interest in their personal lives. And… well… it’s not like they’re out to the public.”

That was true. Jesse and Cesar had kept their relationship out of their wrestling, same as Dean and Cas. But they kept their relationship quiet for other reasons: to protect their families in Mexico and to keep a kind of barrier between their professional and personal lives. They wouldn’t hold hands in public. There were people they’d wrestled against who didn’t even know they were a couple. Their privacy was everything to them.

And Crowley was right about the other thing, too. If they suddenly retired, it’d be harder than ever to keep that shit locked down.

“So my offer.” Crowley reached into his briefcase through the tiniest crack on the top. Wouldn’t want any of those mice to escape. “You let us spin your relationship, we hire body doubles for Jesse and Cesar to wrestle one more retirement season. They wear masks anyway; no one would know. This way their retirement is long coming and everyone loses interest. Plus,” His grin was lecherous. “They’ll have this shiny new couple to fawn over.”

Cas shifted next to Dean. Dean was frozen, looking into the smarmy face of his boss.

Crowley was smart. He was a businessman. He saw that nothing he had been offering was making any headway with them, so he went for what he knew would make them break: the health and happiness of their friends.

Dean had to hand it to him; the only thing that could distract the public from something so potentially juicy would definitely be a relationship between two of the biggest faces in the WWE. And the only thing that would get Dean’s okay would be the opportunity to protect his friends with that distraction. It was the perfect crime.

He snatched the contract out of Crowley’s hand. “We’ll think about it,” he said through clenched teeth.

Crowley just continued grinning and shot a wink at them. “Cheers,” he said before turning on his heel and striding away.

 

 

 

“I don’t like it,” Dean huffed, half from anger and half from the exertion of this fucking stair climber.

“No one likes it,” Cas huffed back, entirely from anger. Because his frankly freakish stamina meant he hadn’t breathed heavily from physical exertion since he was 13.

Well, out of the bedroom.

“I feel blackmailed. Do you feel blackmailed?”

“A bit.” Cas’s face had been set in an angry frown since Crowley left. Dean would have said it would stick that way if Cas hadn’t already started showing wrinkles in those areas. “We could always say no.”

“What, and leave Jesse and Cesar out to dry?” Dean shook his head. “They’re our friends. And it’s my fault they’re doing this anyway.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cas said, without pause.

“Tell me they would definitely still be retiring if I hadn’t put Cesar out.”

Cas scowled but didn’t. He knew Dean would call him out for lying.

“So, yeah, I’m gonna feel like shit about that. But if we could do something–”

“Dean, this is like the _one thing_ you didn’t want to do. We said we would never go there. We’d retire first.”

Dean breathed through his nose hard. He knew that. Of course he knew that! He still didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want to retire either but if Crowley’s offer had been, “Give us your relationship for profit or hang up your hat.” Dean would have flung it at him.

But no. Crowley _needed_ Dean. Dean was their diversity card. He was their cash cow. He was the face of wrestling.

He’d given Crowley – the entire industry – his face, his body, his fucking charisma. But no, they needed his heart, too.

“I don’t want to do this, Cas.”

Dean watched Cas roll off his stair master in his peripheral vision and come around Dean’s machine to turn his off. Dean let himself fall backwards off the machine, Cas running around to catch him.

“Dean.” Cas sighed.

“Shut up and let me be dramatic.”

Cas sighed again and steered Dean to the nearest mat so he could drop down onto it, Dean curled partially into his lap.

“I thought we already had this breakdown,” Cas said, reasonably, stroking Dean’s hair. “Right after Crowley gave us the contract. The goblin was there.”

“This isn’t a breakdown,” Dean reasoned. “I’m just…”

“Sad?”

Dean sighed, leaning further into Cas. He was grateful, at least, that no one else was in their corner of the gym. “Yeah. I guess I’m sad.”

“Hard choices can do that to you.”

Dean rubbed his forehead against Cas’s shoulder. “Whatever we do, we lose something.”

Cas pulled away, lifting a hand to cup Dean’s chin. “Did Crowley give you a deadline?”

Dean grimaced. “Not really. But he’s probably gonna be really annoying until we tell him what he wants.”

“And that’s different from before how?”

Dean snorted. He let himself be comforted.

He got up.

“I need weights. I need to walk with weights until I can’t walk anymore.”

Cas frowned, standing up next to him. “That’s not what we have scheduled for today.”

“Right, because I’ve been holding off on anything that might hurt your arm. But I need weights.”

Cas raised an eyebrow “You’ve been–”

“Not right now,” Dean said, desperately. “Please. We can fight about your little engine that could later. I need weights. And I would really prefer if you let me do them without arguing that you should do them too.”

Cas looked very much like he did not want to fight later. He wanted to fight now. But he also loved Dean and would wait.

“I’ll just do crunches over here, then.”

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. “Cas, you know a six-pack doesn’t matter.”

Cas crossed his arms, face pinched. “Pick a fight, Dean.”

Dean glared at him but waved him off. “Go do your fucking crunches.”

“And you do your fucking weights.”

Cas walked to the corner of the mat, in view of where Dean would be doing his farmer’s carry but out of the way. Then he turned toward the wall and crunched.

Dean thought about dropping the weights thing. Having the fight now.

He went to get his weights.

 

 

 

Sam took a large and unattractive bite of his salad.

To be fair to Sam, there was no attractive way to eat a salad. Not that Dean put much stock in eating whatever food you had in any way other than as-fast-as-possible, but there was a difference between Dean stuffing his mouth full of a cheeseburger like the Homer Simpson he was always meant to be and Sam in his nice lawyerly suit looking like actual Little Foot from _The Land Before Time_.

Sam rolled his eyes when Dean told him as much. “You know, Cas wouldn’t get that reference.”

Of course Dean knew that. But Cas wasn’t there.

Dean just winked. “That’s why I gotta save ‘em for you, Sammy.”

Sam snorted, taking another huge bite, craning his neck a bit just to make Dean laugh. Which Dean did.

Sam had been confused when Dean had shown up for lunch without his husband. They didn’t get to do this often and Dean missed spending time together, just him and Sam. At least that’s what he’d told Sam. In reality, Cas didn’t want to come.

No, that wasn’t true either. It’s just that when Dean suggested they get lunch with Sam, Cas had told him he had a doctor’s appointment. When Dean offered a later time, Cas had told Dean to just go without him. Since Cas didn’t want Dean at the doctor’s appointment anyway.

Dean was trying to be understanding. This injury was becoming a real point of contention between them: having Dean there, no matter what news Dr. Adler gave Cas, would only make it harder on Cas. If he got the all-clear, he got Dean’s worry and the million questions he’d ask the doctor. If Cas _didn’t_ get the all-clear, he got Dean’s worry but also Dean’s _relief_.

Dean was struggling enough himself with how he felt about Cas coming back to wrestling. He could imagine why Cas wouldn’t want to deal with Dean’s baggage on top of his own. And he understood.

But it still hurt.

“You could’ve at least gotten some meat on that salad,” Dean told him, shouldering his feelings for later. “Aren’t you health freaks always going on about protein?”

Sam gestured to his salad with his fork, chewing slowly. “Walnuts.”

Dean gestured with a hand. “Those aren’t even the highest protein nut. Get some almonds, you freak.”

Sam snorted. “I love that you’re always on me about _my_ diet but you’re the professional athlete here. It is literally your job to eat better than me. And you can’t even do that.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and dropped both elbows on the table, gesturing down to his plate. “Quarter pound of bison meat for the burger. That’s double the the protein of your fucking walnuts with 20% of the fat of ground beef. Lettuce, tomato, and onion, so there’s your salad, but I also have avocado because it’s also high in protein and I’ve turned into a bougie fuck.”

Sam snorted at that but his eyebrows had a telling arch to them. Dean smirked and continued.

“All of this healthy and delicious shit lives happily on my multigrain bun. Multigrain meaning, as I’m sure you know, it will give me the good sugar only complex carbs can. And then on the side, I’ve got diced potatoes. Because as any Irishman will tell you, potatoes are necessary for any man to grow up big and strong.”

Sam was smirking but he gestured with his fork to Dean’s burger. “There’s also cheese on that.”

“Oh fuck you, Sammy, I’m allowed to indulge.”

Sam laughed, covering his full mouth with the back of his hand. Dean threw a napkin at him.

Sam swallowed, putting up his hand in surrender. “Fine. But I am not a professional athlete. I’m not gonna work off all that protein and shit sitting at a desk all day.”

Dean shrugged, allowing that. Sam might be taller than him, but it helped Dean’s pride to at least be the stronger brother.

“I’ll get you to let me try and bench press you one of these days.”

Sam didn’t even look up. “Not on your life.”

Dean snorted, taking another bite of his burger. “Whatever,” he said, with his mouth full so Sam would make that face at him. Which he did.

He swallowed before asking his next question. “But what’s up with you, Lorax?”

Sam shook his head, his lips twitching. “I’m not Little Foot anymore?”

“Sure you are. But come on, man, you’re the Lorax.” Dean put down his burger so he could gesture grandly with his hands. “You speak for the trees!”

Sam shook his head again, smiling fully now. “We’re suing American Sealcoat Manufacturing for polluting the Chattahoochee. If anything, I speak for rivers.”

Dean shrugged, picking his burger back up. “Well, you are a tree.”

“I’m an environmental lawyer.”

“Same thing.”

Sam snorted, taking another bite of his salad.

He told Dean about the river lawsuit. How they were working closely with the local nonprofit. Sam was spearheading their representation, so he was very familiar with most of their members. A name that kept popping up was ‘Eileen’ and Dean gave him a good ribbing over her.

That was a flawed plan. Now Sam was turning it back on him and asking about Cas.

“I already told you,” Dean mumbled, adjusting his burger so there were no vegetables falling out. “I didn’t invite him. It’s Winchester time.”

“Cas is a Winchester,” Sam reminded him.

“Whatever.” Dean took a bite of his burger, deliberately talking with his mouth full. “Cas doesn’t live in my ass. Dude’s busy!”

Sam leaned his elbows on the table, his long hair framing his unimpressed expression. There was a spot of dressing on his cheek Dean was definitely _not_ going to tell him about.

“I’m going to let that first part go because it’s way too easy and you’re not at your best.” Dean grunted. Sam continued, unphased. “You’re stressed. Why?”

Dean looked at Sam as if he were stupid.

“ _Why?!_ ” Sam just blinked. “My husband is at the doctor right now – an appointment he didn’t _want_ me at – being told whether or not he can wrestle again. After a _year_.”

He put down his burger, wiping his hands on his jeans, brusquely.

“Do you know how long it takes for a dislocated shoulder to heal, usually?”

Dean didn’t wait for Sam to answer. Of course Sam knew; he’d been with Dean through all of this.

“It takes 3 months on a clean injury. Six on a dirty one. Cas has been out for a _year_.”

Sam said nothing. Letting Dean get everything off his chest.

“Because he’s a dumbass and he doesn’t know his limits. Because he feels like if he’s not wrestling, he’s useless. Which is _bullshit_ ,” Dean spat. “Is it my fault? Am I doing that to him?”

Sam shook his head but didn’t say anything. Which was good because Dean wasn’t done.

“I just want to take care of him!” Dean held himself back from yelling (they were still out in public), so every word was a growl. “I want him to take care of himself! Does he not think about would happen to me if he gets hurt? What _did_ happen to me when he got hurt?

“You were there!” He gestured at Sam. Sam flinched back from almost getting hit in the face, so passionate was Dean’s gesture. “You saw what a fucking mess I was! And I know I was shit at hiding it. So why does he _do_ this?”

Dean was breathing heavily, running both hands over the back of his head. Sam leaned back, rubbing his hands together.

“Have you talked to Cas about this?”

Dean blew a breath out loudly, his lips making a prrbt noise. “Kind of.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Not, like, in words.” Dean scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, sighing. “Shouldn’t he know, though?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Are you really pulling the ‘Well if you don’t know I’m not going to tell you’ thing? When has that ever worked?”

Dean sneered.

“We’re dealing,” he told his brother. “And besides, we have bigger problems.”

Sam nodded, reaching into his briefcase. Dean had had Sam look over the contract basically as soon as they’d gotten it. Sam wasn’t a contract lawyer but he could still spot a shitty deal when he saw one.

“It’s not that it’s a bad deal,” Sam told him, absolutely no segue between one problem and the next. He gestured over the document, fingers tracing over passages he’d highlighted. “It’s only a bad deal because it makes you do something you don’t want to do. The compensation package is pretty decent and the freedom it leaves you is better than I would have expected from Crowley. I imagine that was mostly Rowena’s doing.”

Dean’s mouth twitched despite himself. “That’s all thanks to you, man. You know Rowena’s sweet on you.”

Sam pulled a face. Dean’s smile widened just a fraction.

“My professional advice?” Sam asked. Dean’s smile waned and he nodded. “Don’t take it.”

Dean’s eyebrows jumped. “You sure that’s not personal advice?”

“Nope, totally professional. It’s what I would tell any client: don’t settle for less than you deserve. And you don’t deserve to go through this if you don’t want.”

Dean slumped. “What about Jesse and Cesar?”

Sam closed the file, the folder making a soft wsh as it fell over the papers. “As for that,” Sam tilted his head, his eyes dancing just a bit. “I have an idea.”

 

 

 

Dean came home from lunch… if not exactly comforted, then at least with a gameplan.

First step: talk to Cas.

He found him in the living room, a goblin on his shoulders and a book in his lap. He was wearing his reading glasses – a development that made Cas even surlier than usual but Dean was _so_ okay with.

Jareth was sprawled rather lazily over Cas’s neck, fast asleep as Cas bent over his book. Dean knew Cas’s neck had to be killing him, hunched as he was, but he also knew Cas wouldn’t disturb this cat if the house was on fire.

Fuck, he loved him.

If Dean had a personal Instagram – if he had any desire to post anything personal about his life; if he actually wanted people all up in his business – this is the kind of picture he’d post. This was the picture he wanted to remember. This was his life. This was what he wanted. This was what he loved.

Cas didn’t flinch when Dean walked over to sit next to him. Jareth opened one eye before she curled over and went back to sleep.

Dean leaned carefully against Cas’s shoulder: not to interrupt, just to let Cas know he was there.

Cas returned the barest pressure but didn’t turn away from his book. Dean settled back into the couch and shut his eyes, waiting.

He was almost dozing when he heard the soft thud of the book falling closed. He opened his eyes and Cas had taken off his reading glasses. He was rubbing between his eyes.

Dean put a hand on his thigh. “What did Adler say?”

No use beating around the bush. They both knew where Cas had been. They both knew what he’d been waiting to hear.

And hear it he had. “All clear.”

Dean had been prepared for Cas to say that. Still, he was glad Cas wasn’t looking at him so he could soften whatever conflicted emotion was surely broadcasted all over his face.

“And how do we feel about that?”

Cas snorted, an action violent enough that Jareth extended her claws into Cas’s shoulder in displeasure. Cas grimaced but didn’t move any more.

“I know how _you_ feel about it.”

“Really?” Dean sneered back. “Then how do I feel, Cas? Because I don’t have a fucking clue.”

Cas twitched as if to move away but Jareth had him trapped. Dean was glad. He was a little mad at Cas – a lot confused and upset about this stupid situation – but he really didn’t want Cas to pull away from him. He’d much rather have this angry conversation touching tenderly on their couch.

He softened his voice. “I’m worried, Cas. Okay? I’m worried. But I’m still happy as fuck you’re back on your feet. I’m glad you get to come back in the ring, doing what we both love.” He leaned further into Cas. Jareth gave him a dirty look. “I’m annoyed that you’re gonna have your own events so we’ll be split up more. I’m nervous about what this means for me getting the belt at Wrestlemania.

“I’m relieved to see you not _broken_ anymore.” His voice by now was almost a whisper. “But I’m scared to shit that you’re not gonna stay that way.”

Cas still wasn’t looking at him. “You don’t trust me. You don’t think I can wrestle – something I’ve been doing for more than half my life; for longer than you have! – without hurting myself.”

Dean threw his hand up. The one not currently on his husband’s thigh. “Yeah, Cas, you fucking caught me. But I have good reason.” Cas bristled but Dean soldiered on. “No, listen! I would have been fine if you’d come back when you were supposed to. But you didn’t wait! You thought you were fine when you weren’t and you fucked yourself up more. And that kept happening! I've had to watch you break yourself over and over again. So, no, I don't trust you to keep yourself safe.”

Dean was gripping Cas’s thigh so hard by this point. But Cas still wouldn’t look at him.

“It’s my decision.”

“No, you know what? To hell with that.” He released Cas’s thigh and Cas actually did turn to look at him then. “You’re not allowed to pretend like you don’t know how this affects me. We signed a goddamn marriage license. Legally, I’m invested in your shit. Yeah, romantically and emotionally and whatever the fuck, but when we bring it to fucking court, the judge can say we are in love under the eyes of the law and I am _allowed to care what happens to you, you dipshit_.”

Cas’s eyes were almost unreasonably soft considering Dean’s harsh language. But he still frowned.

“Dean… if you don’t want me to wrestle–”

“Of _course_ I want you to wrestle,” Dean interrupted, turning and grabbing Cas’s hand with both of his. “Of course I do. But I also need you to not pull risky shit. And to be okay with the fact that I’m going to be clingy and annoying for the rest of your life.”

Cas smirked, eyes on their hands. He brought his other hand to hold the pile. “Not for the rest of yours?”

“I’m counting on you dying first,” Dean said. “I’m not gonna throw myself over your coffin, Cas, get over yourself.”

Cas laughed. “And if you die first?”

“I’ll haunt your ass. Obviously.”

Cas laughed again. Dean had leaned in close enough that Cas could lean his temple on Dean’s hair. So he did.

“Don’t ban me from doctor’s appointments anymore,” Dean asked, softly.

“Don’t change your workout because you think I can’t handle it.”

Dean sighed, sinking his full weight onto Cas. Jareth made an affronted trumpet noise and launched herself away from them. Neither of them were too offended.

“Okay.” Dean kissed his cheek.

“Okay,” Cas confirmed and pulled Dean in to kiss him properly.

 

 

 

Cas was cleared to wrestle in November. But, for maximum drama and comfort, the network decided he’d make his return at Royal Rumble in January.

Dean and Cas went over their plan with Sam over Thanksgiving. They trained and Dean wrestled in matches and Cas acted as manager.

According to Charlie and the rest of their social media team, fans were noticing how different Cas was looking. He was filling out his shirts more, the swell of his biceps pushing against his sleeves and the cinch on his waistcoat emphasizing the cut of his torso.

“You’ve always been thick, Cas,” she told them both after press one day. They stood together with Dean rubbing lazy circles into Cas’s lower back. “Thicc with like two ‘c’s. But there are fans wanting you to RKO them just so your beefy shoulders are the last things they see.”

Dean threw his head back in a laugh and Cas squinted. “They do not.”

Charlie turned the phone around. “That is an exact tweet, my dude. Verbatim. And they only get dirtier.”

Dean hummed, his hand sliding lower to rub over his husband’s ass. Cas shot him a glare but pulled Dean’s hand back when he tried to move it away. Dean smirked.

They did Christmas and Hanukkah (despite the name and all the Christian iconography, Cas was ironically Jewish) and they brought in the new year with too much pie that Cas warned him he’d have to work off before his match in a couple days’ time.

Then it was a month until Royal Rumble and Crowley was hounding them about the contract. He wanted to strike while the iron was hot. If he could launch the storyline of their relationship off of the buzz that would come from Cas’s comeback, they could potentially triple their interest and blah blah blah. Dean wasn’t listening.

Cas trained with him. Dean learned not to wince every time Cas took a hit on his left side or went to lift something heavier than 100lbs. Cas didn’t really get his six-pack back but Dean invested a lot of kisses and hickeys and belly massages into the still-hard, if not defined, stretch of muscle between his nipples and his crotch. So Cas was okay with it. Or he was trying to be.

And Dean was okay with Cas wrestling. Or he was trying to be.

And then it was Royal Rumble. And ready or not, here they came.

 

 

 

They flew to San Antonio. Dean’s flight anxiety was at a lowish level since his anxiety about everything else was taking up so much space in his brain, but it was enough that he allowed himself a whiskey when the flight attendant asked.

The days of training and rehearsing had gone by the way things do when you’re more focused on the thing that comes after: they sped by in some parts, dragged in others. Dean and Cas had a lot of morning sex and shower quickies to work out some of their nerves. It didn’t really help but it didn’t hurt, either. All things being equal, Dean preferred sex to no sex.

The other wrestlers definitely helped to serve as a distraction. It was rare there were so many of them in one place – it was rarer for all of them to be in the same place while they were _working_.

Sixty wrestlers total – 30 women and 30 men – all duking it out for a title match at Wrestlemania.

The women’s Royal Rumble was new – had only been around a couple years. Dean was glad for it. For one, the women were amazing and watching them wrestle was one of the greater pleasures in his life. But also, maybe something crazier would happen in the women’s match than what Dean and Cas were planning.

Probably not, but he could hope.

Donna and Abaddon sat out, being the Smackdown and Raw Women’s champions already, but Donna’s face acting was always a treat. When Dean first met her, he hadn’t thought she could pull off being a heel. She was so cute and sweet! But that just made her more amazing at it.

Jo came out with the victory and she chose to challenge Abaddon for her belt. Jo wasn’t a Raw wrestler but, hey, seeing Jo and Abaddon square off was going to be fun as hell. Dean was definitely in favor.

Dean had kind of wanted Anna to win, just because seeing Anna and Donna wrestle would have been _amazing_ but, whatever, he could probably get them to spar at his next barbecue or something.

The women’s and men’s division alternated years for who would be the opening match and who would be the main event for the Royal Rumble. This year was the women’s year to open. Of course.

From the beginning of the match, Dean and Cas only had three minutes to comfort each other. Michael and Ketch were first in the ring. Then 90 seconds later, Lucifer would run in. Then 90 seconds later it would be Cas’s turn.

The rules were simple: a new wrestler would run into the ring every 90 seconds. It didn’t matter how many were already out there. It didn’t matter how long you actually stayed in the ring –  you could roll off the sides and watch from the sideline if you wanted. The only rule was, you went over the top rope and both feet hit the floor you were out.

Thirty wrestlers. 29 other men had to get knocked out before you could win. The later you entered, the better chance you had.

Cas was going in fourth.

“ _Please_ sit out for at least _some_ of it,” Dean begged. “You don’t have to be in the ring for the whole time. You’re already gonna win – on your _comeback!_ Please take it easy.”

Cas cupped his face and kissed him firmly. Lucifer had already run out 70 seconds ago.

“Will you at least think about it?” Dean asked against his lips.

The crowd started counting down from 10.

Cas kissed Dean one more time before he ran out.

“You can’t even give me an answer, you son of a bitch?!” Dean screamed after him. He couldn’t even hear himself over the sound of the crowd.

Fans had guessed Cas was coming back. The seasoned fans could definitely predict based on history and Cas’s supposed physique change that he would be coming out of retirement at Royal Rumble.

But no one knew he was coming out fourth. And no one knew he’d be wearing rainbow trunks.

When the audience heard the flapping of wings that preceded Cas’s music, they lost their goddamn minds. There was no time for a big intro – not at Royal Rumble – but everyone could hear the gothic choir and see the title screens looking like they were dripping black tar. Castiel was back.

Cas ran out with long, serious strides, and threw off his trench coat at Benny’s feet. Benny and Gordon (the Raw champion) gaped and sneered with the appropriate amount of menace. Benny couldn’t _quite_ hide how exciting he found this whole thing but no one would be looking at him enough to notice.

Within the first 50 seconds of being in the ring, Cas had already thrown Lucifer and Ketch over the top rope. Michael played nervous. Cas played the vengeful angel.

The horn went and Mick ran out.

Dean watched one of the monitors backstage, chewing the skin around his thumb. He had five minutes to wait until his turn. 15th entrance: firmly in the middle of the pack. That would have been a great position if he were trying to win.

But he knew he wasn’t going to win. So the wait just meant he was watching Cas’s performance – a performance he had seen rehearsed probably a hundred times in the past few days – and flinching every time he took a hit.

They weren’t real hits. He and Michael had taken on a temporary alliance and were fending off Mick, Gabriel, Ishim, Cole, and Prometheus. And holy shit, when did so many guys get in the ring?

No matter how many times Dean told himself they weren’t real hits, seeing five huge dudes (well, four huge dudes and Gabriel) bearing down on his husband was going to give him stomach ulcers.

Huge hands came down on his shoulders, startling him.

“He’s doing great,” Cain said to him.

Dean sighed, letting himself relax a bit.

Cain, or The Knight, was one of the other Royal Rumble surprises. He’s been retired for _years_. And this event wasn’t him coming out of retirement – it was just a publicity thing. For shock value.

But Cain had been one of the older wrestlers who Dean looked up to when he’d first started out. Dean might have called him a mentor if he’d thought Cain had ever _tried_ teaching him anything. But really, the only thing Cain had taught Dean was to keep his marriage out of wrestling.

And that was not a helpful avenue to go down right now.

But when had Cain ever claimed to be helpful?

He squeezed Dean’s shoulders once more before releasing and ran right out.

_270 seconds left._

By the time Dean ran out, Cas had already thrown Mick, Ishim, and Cole over the top rope. Uriel and Dick Roman had also been thrown out, but Dean hadn’t paid attention to who had done it. Prometheus, Michael, Gabriel, and Cain were outside the ring which meant it was just Cas, Raphael, and Victor still going.

Dean wished he could yell at Cas because _that fucker was supposed to be down right now_ but he couldn’t. Not then. He had a job to do.

He rolled into the ring, pulling Raphael away from where he’d had Cas in a chokehold and punched him straight in the face.

Raphael had only entered the ring two people ahead of Dean but he wasn’t a major player in this match. He was just a body. He reeled back from Dean’s punch and went right over the top rope.

Dean turned back to Cas and winked. It didn’t matter that Dean was a little mad at him. That he was a lot anxious and worried. Baby would have winked at Cas. So Dean did.

Castiel, The Angel of the Ring, would not have grinned back at Dean. But that’s exactly what Cas did.

Dean was frozen for a fraction of a second. Cas never broke character – never went off script. That was Dean’s thing. That was what Dean did. But Cas had grinned at him. Not the smirk of The Angel. Not the small pleased smile of a super power. A big gummy grin. The way a husband smiles at the love of his live.

Seeing it in this context… was a lot for Dean.

He unfroze when Victor swept out his legs from under him.

60 seconds later, Osiris came in.

Prometheus came back in the ring – he and Osiris having some feud Dean couldn’t keep up with. The other wrestlers had been told to give them room in the ring so Dean kicked out from Victor and pushed him out of the ring, jumping after him to continue their ‘brawl’.

(They’d really been locked together in a very uncomfortable hug. But there was a lot going on, no one would call them on it.)

Cas almost looked like he wasn’t going to leave the ring so Dean yanked on his foot and gestured at Victor. He shouted some things that amounted to “Help me take down this fool.”

Cas rolled his eyes but ducked between the ropes, leaping off the second rope to hit Victor with his right elbow.

Right. Not left. So he _did_ care about Dean’s heart.

They stayed out of the ring, running through some mild choreography on the ground or lying prone on the floor.

Azazel, Gadreel, and Eldon Styne came into the ring. Prometheus threw Osiris out and Gabriel teamed up with his partner, Gadreel, to take out Cain.

Gadreel was huge. He didn’t need Gabriel’s help. By himself, he threw out Prometheus, Raphael, and Azazel, while Gabriel speared anyone who tried to get near him. Until Styne came up from behind and grabbed Gabriel around the middle, heaved him up _over his head_ and threw him over.

Gadreel reacted to this by hitting Eldon Styne with his shoulder and propelling both of them over the top rope. Gadreel’s feet didn’t quite touch the floor and he was about to pull himself back in the ring, but Jeff – or Alpha Vamp – had just run and pulled him off the side, disqualifying Gadreel.

Dean jumped back in the ring, having his own history with The Alpha Vamp. Michael came up on Alpha’s side and Cas came on his and Victor was still ‘passed out’ outside the ring. They didn’t fight for long before the next countdown ended and everyone, in and out of the ring, lost their goddamn minds as The Black Dog’s music came in.

The wrestlers knew Rufus Turner was on the call sheet and they’d been practicing with him for days. But seeing The Black Dog march into the ring, no rush, black (faux) fur coat tails dragging on the runway, when all of these wrestlers had had posters of The Black Dog on their walls back when wrestling was just a dream to them, made them all lose their minds.

Luckily, the respect for The Black Dog was enough that they didn’t have to conceal their excitement. This surprise was so profound that they were allowed to be excited.

Rufus stepped into the ring (Actually using the fucking _stairs_ ) and immediately took down each of the four of them in the ring in quick succession.

He then just stood there. For the whole 90 seconds until the next wrestler came out. Just basking in the screams.

Edgar came out next and, seeing who was in the ring, he slowed down, eyes widening dramatically, and refused to get in the ring. He played it up, pointing and yelling things like, “Are you crazy? No!” and it was a great distraction for Alpha Vamp to grab The Black Dog by the nape of his neck and flip him over the top rope.

It was a basic move: the biel throw. It was literally one of the first moves you learned. Every wrestler was trained to react to it. It was gentle enough that they could use it on an old guy like Rufus. That’s why it was picked, that’s why Alpha Vamp had done it.

But the way the crowd reacted, you’d think he’d hit him with a Sweet Chin Music.

While a gentle flip didn’t compare to a kick to the neck that had been known to almost paralyze a lot of men in the 90s, The Black Dog was such a beloved figure, everyone was super pissed.

Edgar jumped in the ring, finally, and Victor seemed to come round, because all five of them worked together to lift Alpha Vamp fully over their heads and drop him unceremoniously outside of the ring.

They basked in the screamed applause, patting each other on the back and screaming taunts at Alpha Vamp until suddenly War was running in and the match was back on.

It was Edgar against Victor, Cas against War, and Dean against Michael. This was the part where Michael was supposed to throw Dean over the top rope.

That was not what was going to happen.

_“So you’re saying… instead of giving Crowley control, you’re going to give him what he wants in the most inconvenient way possible?”_

_“Only if you’re willing to help us,” Dean had said, squeezing Cas’s hand._

And maybe it was because Michael still had that respect for Cas from the old days. Or maybe it was because Dean had never asked another wrestler for anything, least of all Michael. But he’d agreed.

Dean and Michael turned on the spot, literally switching parts in the arranged choreography. Dean could see the other wrestlers falter a bit in confusion but Dean didn’t hesitate.

Michael had been an Angel, like Cas, and did a lot of aerial moves. Dean was not as good at aerial moves but he’d practiced this one.

He flipped back on his hands so he could wrap his legs over Michael’s shoulders and then pushed back, forcing Michael to the ground, Dean sitting on his chest.

The crowd recognized this as one of Michael’s moves. They may not have realized Dean and Michael had literally switched places, but they could sense where this was going.

Dean stood up, stomping on Michael’s face for good measure. He hadn’t wrestled against Michael very much but he was a good actor. His recoil from Dean’s “kick” was really convincing.

Now that Michael was “stunned,” Dean lifted him into a fireman’s carry and spun. The audience, who had caught on by now, chanted loudly at each rotation.

**_“1! 2 ! 3! 4!”_ **

Because it had to be four to be a Holy Fire

And then Dean threw him over the top rope.

Everyone in the ring froze. But only in the split second between Michael going over and his body hitting the ground. They knew this was off script. They didn’t know what was going to happen next.

But they’d do what they could.

 

 

 

Everything started to move faster. Dean had taken the script and thrown it out and now the other guys were coming for him.

He dodged and shoved and took hits. Everyone was out of the back, no more men coming into the ring. People were being thrown out of the ring, men were throwing themselves at Dean, Cas was helping, Victor was helping, Victor was out – it was chaos. Dean had no idea how this looked on tv but he was sure it would be one of the more exciting matches in the last few years.

Suddenly, it was only Dean, Cas, and Alistair in the ring. According to the original choreography, Alistair should have been thrown out before the last wrestler entered the ring. This was not the original choreography. They were making it up as they went.

And how fucking poetic was that? Al had hit on Dean when he first moved up to Smackdown and Dean had shot him down. Al resented Cas for that reason. And now here they all were.

Alistair went for Cas first, more familiar with his wrestling style.

He came at him in a lunge which Cas dodged easily, sending Alistair into the ropes. When Alistair bounced back, he hit Cas’s arm in a clothesline, sending him down to the mat.

Cas backed up, winking at Dean and gesturing for Dean to take over.

Dean laughed uproariously and stooped to pick Alistair up, draping him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

Dean’s plan was to just drop Alistair on the other side. He had more important things to deal with than this third rate wrestler.

But Alistair was _not_ cooperating. Dean had him at the ropes and he just kept struggling. Clinging to Dean’s shoulders and to the top rope and wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck.

Dean craned to look over at Cas, expression clear, _‘Babe, help.’_

Cas rolled his eyes but took a run at the opposing ropes. Dean grinned despite himself.

Cas hadn’t wrestled in a tag team in a while. The audience was going to love the shit out of the return of the Seraph’s Scorn.

Cas used his momentum off the ropes to bring up his speed so when he jumped both legs off the ground into a flying kick, it would be enough to knock Alistair off of the ropes and onto the ground.

And they’d done it. Dean and Cas were the last two in the ring.

Dean and Cas looked at Alistair on the ground for a bit. Dean could practically feel the cameras zooming in on him. He could taste the screams of the audience. He could smell the speculation of the commentators.

_‘They’ve been allied this whole match; now it’s time to see who will turn on brother and friend_ . _’_

They were right about the second but dead wrong about the first.

Dean slung an arm around Cas, pulling him into his side as they jeered at Alistair, slowly making his way back up the ramp backstage. They were letting the tension build, letting the audience speculate what may or may not happen next.

Crowley could sit on a thumbtack, but Dean owed it to Bobby to make sure this was good. To make sure that this was better than any Royal Rumble anyone could remember. To make this the best reveal in WWE history.

He owed it to Jesse and Cesar to make sure it was trending.

He owed it to himself to do this how he wanted.

When Alistair disappeared backstage, the cheering redoubled. Everyone’s focus was on Dean and Cas now. It was down to them.

Dean let Cas go and started circling him, eyeing him in the predatory way he was known for.

Cas stood in the center, stoically, and took it.

Cas as Castiel – as The Angel of the Ring – was a completely different beast. Usually hunched, Cas’s shoulders were straight and relaxed. The ab definition was gone but he was solid muscle all the way down, the only thing interrupting the square miles of skin a pair of rainbow trunks hugging his bikini line. The black padding that comprised of shoes, shin-guard and knee-pad that traveled up to Cas’s thigh had rainbows traveling up the sides. Despite these colors, Cas still looked the intimidating figure.

And Dean couldn’t stop looking.

The familiar chant started up, as Dean had so hoped it would.

**_“Baby’s gonna kiss you. Baby’s gonna kiss you.”_ **

Yes. Yes he was.

Dean finished his circle so he was facing Cas head on. They stood a foot apart, easily within touching distance.

He took his time, making sure to move his whole head as he looked Cas up and down, from his nose to his toes. Then, he slowly, deliberately, licked his lips.

The crowd’s chants broke into mostly screams. No words were coming out of them, just mass hysteria.

Dean lunged forward, hands coming up to cup Cas’s jaw, and he kissed him.

The stadium was so loud Dean saw white.

It wasn’t a real kiss. Yes, their mouths touched and moved together but the passion in it was all staged. All nervous energy. They would do a real kiss later, but right now, with Cas’s hands on Dean’s hips and Dean’s hands in Cas’s hair, this was all for show.

It didn’t last more than ten seconds. Ten seconds of screaming and kissing and, somewhere on the internet, fangirls passing out. And then Dean pulled away.

He pulled away and the screaming didn’t get quieter. The lights didn’t dim. He wasn’t done yet.

He kissed Cas again, quickly, on the nose this time, and then he ran and threw himself out of the ring.

He was showy. He did a front flip over the top rope, landing on his feet at the bottom.

He did a bow to the crowd, turned and blew a kiss to Cas, and then he walked himself out of the stadium.

Cas had won Royal Rumble, as the network had planned.

Dean and Cas had outed themselves as a couple, as Crowley had been requesting.

And yet, as behind him the bell rang and the ref was lifting Cas’s hand, Dean couldn’t help thinking that Crowley hadn’t really gotten what he’d wanted.

And that was all Dean could ask for.

 

 

 

“So that was it?”

It was a week later and everyone was at Sam’s house for Dean’s birthday party. Sam always threw Dean’s parties at his house because he knew having twenty people unsupervised at Dean’s house would make him panic. Which, at a celebration for Dean, was not ideal.

So they were on Sam’s back porch, Sam’s shaggy mutt at their feet, sipping beer from bottles, and Sam was giving him the raised eyebrow of inscrutability.

No, that hadn’t been it. Once Dean had made it backstage, he’d been bombarded by Charlie who smacked him with her clipboard and told him how amazing it had been. Then he got yelled at by producers, and then Cas came backstage and _he_ got yelled at by producers, and then Bobby came out and gave them pats on the back. And then Frank Devereaux, the master tech guy, chewed Dean out for not giving him a heads up so they didn’t have the best camera angles, and then Garth, one of the other tech guys, came forward and said they didn’t have the best angles for live but he got great shots for the replay, and then Frank backed off.

Then Crowley came out was furious, and Dean and Cas had a smug old time. _‘Wasn’t this what you wanted, Mr. Crowley?’ ‘Did we not give our best performance, Mr. Crowley?’_ And then his business partner, Naomi, admonished them for going off script but then immediately began expounding on all the positive press they were already getting. Meanwhile, another network exec and Crowley’s relative (in some way, Dean was never sure on the details), Rowena, came forward and was just gushing about the spectacle and how ingenious it was and _‘Really, Fergus, it could not have gone any better.’_

Then they had a lot of fucking paperwork. And scheduled interviews. And storyboard meetings. And _a lot_ more non-wrestling bookings than Dean was used to.

And Dean couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Instead of explaining all this, he shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Sam snorted, rolling his eyes and bringing his beer to his lips. “Mmm!” he mumbled against the bottle, holding out a finger. “If you have any contracts you’re not sure about, you’ll let me look at them, right?”

“Why else do I keep ya?” Dean answered, holding his bottle out for Sam to clink, which he did, with a grin.

Dean grinned back, taking some time to look over the gathering. One thing could be said for Georgia: the weather was nice enough in January for a damn good outdoor party. Benny and Jo were over in a corner playing horseshoes, Charlie was out on the patio gesturing excitedly to a raptly listening Cesar while Jesse looked between them in fond amusement. Donna had brought that police chief, Jody, she’d been seeing and Dean liked her immediately.

Sam had also brought that girl, Eileen, he wouldn’t shut up about. Dean could see her teaching Cas some basic signs where they were huddled under one of the trees. He felt his grin soften.

“You ever thought it would be like this, Sammy?” he asked his brother, eyes on their better halves.

“What, that I’d be drinking your shitty beer with you when I’m in my thirties?” Sam snorted again. “Kinda, yeah.”

Dean swiveled his head over, his Baby grin making him look cocky.

“Is it everything you dreamed it would be?”

Sam shook his head, but he was smiling. He sat down on the porch step, putting himself within easy butt patting distance of Cisco the mutt, and the dog went wild with happiness. Dean sat down right beside him.

“It’s getting there,” Sam told them both.“It’s getting there.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Super super big thanks to the peeps who run the DCBB: Jojo and Muse, y'all are the actual angels here.
> 
> Thanks to my beta, [andimeantittosting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/andimeantittosting), my sister who is the real WWE fan here and helped make sure I didn't sound like an idiot, and of course everyone on the DCBB discord who would gas me up while writing.
> 
> And finally, of course, thanks to my amazing artist, [purzelndesbaeumchen](http://purzelndesbaeumchen.tumblr.com/post/179898485428/nobody-puts-baby-in-a-corner-im-baby-del-mar). These WWE superstars are all about their image and you gave my boys quite the image. Thanks for making my first run with DCBB so great!
> 
> As usual I am [Saywhatjessie](http://saywhatjessie.tumblr.com) on tumblr and you can reblog it [here](http://saywhatjessie.tumblr.com/post/179898417900/dcbb-2018-nobody-puts-baby-in-a-corner-by) or the official DCBB post [here](http://deancasbigbang.tumblr.com/post/179899625800/title-nobody-puts-baby-in-a-corner).
> 
> Bonus:  
> 


End file.
